Bayou Foi
by mrs.milfoy
Summary: Draco and Narcissa discover the magic of the bayou and the tumultuous Mississippi amid turbulent emotions and dark, distressing desires. References to Voodoo, incest and oc's abound. Also be aware this story brings the Malfoys to America, which is not necessarily everyone's cup of sweet Southern iced tea...but do have a taste at least. Visit the bayou playlist on my profile!
1. Chapter 1

It was the violently approaching earth that knocked the wind from his lungs. Draco rolled with the velocity, though – practiced in the art of tucking and relaxing. The wooden bowl he'd used as a portkey thunked into a tree – the same tree beneath which he came to rest. He coughed and stared up through thick, bare branches. Spanish moss swayed in a building breeze, and dark clouds seemed to slick like black oil across the grey sky.

_A storm? Fantastic._ He rose slowly, feeling too old for his young bones, and dusted himself off. His charmed duffel rested a few feet away in shallow puddle. With a scowl, he drew his wand. "Accio," he muttered. Shouldering the leather bag, he took a moment to gain his bearings.

And noticed for the first time - the smell.

His nose wrinkled slightly. It wasn't necessarily a bad odor. Definitely an odd one. Unlike anything he'd ever encountered, really. Even after years of potions classes with Neville Longbottom. It was…humidity, firstly; the humidity that already clung to his exposed skin. It was also dirt – not the sandy, clean dirt he was accustomed to in Wiltshire, but a loamy, warm black peat that fairly oozed fertility. And water. Everywhere water. He knew the Mississippi delta surrounded him, brackish and powerful. The river smelled of salt and cold.

Then the secondary note arose. Something sweet…floral. Honeysuckle? His cursory visual scan didn't reveal any blooming foliage, but its presence was definite. For just a second, he breathed it in deeply.

It was quiet._ The bayou_, he thought. _How did this happen?_

It was too much to think on. He eyed the carriage lane ahead. It was so long, he couldn't even see the house, but he knew he was in the right place. It was a portkey, after all. Consciously, he avoided counting the pecan trees as he walked the thin layer of gravel. There must have been a hundred of them, and the thought of knowing for a fact made him dizzy.

"You must be Draco."

He spun at the voice, hoping he didn't look a startled twat. "I am." His voice sounded uncertain despite the posturing he attempted. "And you are?"

She glided from behind a tree and he saw something in her hands. Straw? "I'm your cousin." Her smile was Tupelo honey. "Marie Eleanor." She extended a hand, sliding what he now realised was a miniature effigy just behind her back. "Everybody calls me Elle, though."

Her hand was soft and dry, surprising considering his felt so sticky. It was also small as the rest of her. He looked down on her five foot frame. "I thank you for having me, cousin," he said somberly. "And my mother, as well."

Marie smiled shyly and not shyly at all. The smile was wide and the red lips dangerous. "Nonsense. We love havin' y'all," she drawled. A flirtatious laugh broke the lips and bubbled over. "Even if ya'll are unapologetic fog-breathers."

He half grinned at the not unkind slight. She was peculiar. He suspected the accent – deeply southern with hints of what he'd heard called 'creole' – was primarily affected. Her glinting green eyes spoke of a sharp intellect and wit, and an age beyond that which her body and face projected. She hadn't released his hand yet. When he looked down at it, she murmured, "But you sure are pretty for a limey. Just like your mama."

He blinked. Stymied.

"And too young for you." This voice from behind him. Again he spun, muttering, "Merlin!"

"No. Maite." The taller woman extended her hand as well. "Maite Evelyn." She bit a plump lower lip. "Maite's Basque. Means beloved."

A snort. "I just bet," Marie chided. "Ev here is my sister."

"_Younger_ sister," Maite corrected. She caught her sister's eye as she shook Draco's hand. He felt like a caught rabbit to be halved by two foxes.

But they seemed jovial enough, the obvious teasing never becoming threatening. Maite was perhaps five inches taller than her sister, beautiful in her own right. Her dark hair brushed her bare shoulders. She had the fuller bosom of the sisters, and seemed proud to display it in a daringly cut cotton frock printed with tiny blue flowers.

"Shall we show our new guest to his temporary home?"

Marie swept an overlong brunette fringe from her right eye. "You take him, sister. I'm…busy. But I'll be along in time for supper."

"Fine." Maite leaned close to Marie, a knowing pout on her pink mouth. She fingered the scalloped sleeve of Marie's white frock. "Don't let your business keep you from us too long."

Draco swallowed when they kissed. It didn't seem at all sisterly. When she returned to him, Maite's smile was inviting. "Ready?" She asked. He nodded, and they set off toward what he assumed was his new temporary home.

"Ev?" Elle called out. The taller sister turned, brows raised. "Be good." Elle twisted the straw in her hands. "His mama'll have your hide if you…misbehave."

Maite's eyes darkened briefly – a shadow crossing still waters. "His mama can have my hide anytime." She ignored Elle's disapproving moue. "Come on, Draco." He looked back at Elle whose pleasant features hardened. Maite walked a ways ahead of him, occasionally glancing back coyly. "Must be awful for you," she said. "Having to leave your home and come here, so far away."

"I didn't exactly _have_ to leave," Draco explained. "And it's still my home –"

"Of course!" The woman turned to him. Her frock swayed around her pale calves. She reached a long-fingered hand to touch his elbow. "I just want you to know…I know what it's like to feel like a stranger."

They certainly don't get much stranger than you, he thought, focusing on the odd design tattooed on the revealed skin of her upper back - two crudely drawn snakes upright and parallel to a staff. "Well. Thank you." He stared past her shoulder at the house – if one could call it a house – in the distance.

It was much as he'd imagined it - the traditional southern plantation of old muggle novels, romantically decrepit, rain-washed white, swathed in wisteria, rocking chairs and a wrap-around deck. He smelled something cooking and was surprised to feel his salivary glands awaken. His day of travel had famished and exhausted him.

A few chickens roamed the green grounds, pecking and rustling about. When Draco and Maite approached the stone steps, a rooster reported the intrusion loudly. Suddenly, the front door banged open and Draco's arms were filled with woman. "Mother!"

"Oh, Draco!"

He staggered grinning into thick stone railing. Her slight form felt like home in his arms and embarrassing heat crept into his throat and behind his eyes. "You feel so good," was whispered before he could censor it.

"Mmm." She nuzzled his neck, fingers kneading at his shoulders as though memorizing his body. "I've missed you so. Gods, I love you, son."

She was firm and curvy pressing against him. He felt cool, moist skin and held her at arms' length at last – needing the distance (disturbingly) and wanting to examine her. "You look well, mum." She looked remarkable. Her skin – normally pale porcelain – glowed a light bronze and her high cheeks were healthy pink.

"Thank you." She kissed the hand that stroked her jaw. "I'm so glad you've come, darling." A hot tear sluiced beneath his fingers.

"Shhh." Again he drew her against him, unable to resist the allure of her comfort, her mothering. Her _body_. And for the first time, he realised her hair was hidden away save for a dark-light coil slipping into lovely cleavage from a white headwrap.

It appeared in the weeks she'd lived here in Louisiana, she'd adopted the native dress; a light white cotton frock replacing the heavy velvets and satins that had once adorned her, ankles revealed by the tea-length skirt and arms bared to sun. A strap hung from a shapely shoulder.

Not for the first time, Draco recognised his mother's intense beauty – her vital feminine. But when his eyes flicked up from his mother's newness, they saw Maite's knowing smirk. He stepped away, clearing his throat.

Narcissa took his jaw in her hands, still feasting on his visage. "You must be starving," she said. "I believe there's a bit of a feast planned in your honor?"

"A feast?" He smiled at the soft gleam in her blue eyes.

Maite answered, circling the couple curiously. "Indeed, young master. A true southern feast. Barbeque pork, crawfish, corn and potatoes. A regular ol' low country boil."

He'd never seen a crawfish in his life, but his stomach seemed keen enough. "Sounds wonderful. I thank you." He gave a brief, courteous bow. "For the many hospitalities you've shown my mother and myself."

"How very formal." Maite giggled. "Come on in here and put your things away. You'll probably wanna freshen up before supper." She gestured to the door. "I imagine your mama'll be glad to show you to your room?"

If there was any innuendo hidden in her statement, it was well hidden. Or Draco was too tired to catch it. Narcissa squeezed his elbow. "Come, son. You'll be sleeping in the room beside mine. It has a lovely view."

The house was dim, but electrical lights flickered here and there – a product of magic's disturbing energies. A clash of the muggle and wizarding worlds that would no doubt require some getting used to. From the entry's double doors, he could see straight down a long corridor to another set of double doors open save for a screen. A breeze traversed the passage.

There was a slightly musty smell, the smell of age. But the house was remarkably clean and decorous. Its walls shone with embossed paper that spoke of antiquity. Light fixtures were elaborate crystal or painted hurricane lamps. In a nearby parlor hung a low glass and candle chandelier, impressively charmed and accentuating a blood red carpet below.

"Up here." Narcissa led him to the curving mahogany staircase. He looked back to see Maite watching them ascend, leaning lazily on the banister. Her left foot absently stroked her right calf.

The second floor was laid out similarly to the first. A set of double doors at the end of a long corridor opened onto a balcony, and Draco blinked when a large black bird flapped away from the railing there. His mother must have noticed. "That was Jackanape," she murmured.

"Hm?" She was pushing open a door.

"Jackanape." His room's windows were open, airing nicely. "The family bird." She paused at the foot of his large canopied bed.

"No owl?" He asked, dropping his duffel in relief.

"No. Not as common here. Jack is a crow."

He stared at her. "Right."

They breathed. "Well." She sighed. "Do you like your room?"

"It's fine."

"Good." She scratched at her wrist.

Draco looked down. "Mum. We should talk –"

"The loo is across the hall," she interrupted. "It has modern plumbing, but no shower. And the pipes are rather cantankerous."

He nodded. "Thank you." Reached toward her. "Mum…"

But she sidestepped his hand. "We'll eat soon. The dining room is downstairs. Off the hallway on the right." She turned at his door. "I imagine you're tired."

_And torn_. "Yes. A bit."

"Then we'll have an early night," she said. "In the morning, I'll take you on a tour of the grounds. Introduce you to…to people."

She looked so lost, standing there with her hand on his leaded crystal door knob. He wanted desperately to hold her again. To rock her in his arms and weep in her bosom. To _fuck_ her familiarity… He shook his head. "Sounds fine, mum."

She smiled an ache. "Well. I'll see you at supper."

Supper was (as Maite had promised) indeed a feast. He was a bit late arriving, but no one seemed to stand on ceremony. Piles of chipped pork made excellent sandwiches, the meat soft, moist and flavorful. Potatoes and corn cobs were equally delicious, bursting with new and exciting spice. The long, fat shrimp were sweet and the crawfish…

"Watch me." It was Marie who gave him his crawfish lesson. And watch he did. Her elegant hands were brisk with the bright red creatures, breaking them at junctures of tail, claw and head. She extracted the tender white meat with ease, dipped it into butter and devoured it with a moan of pleasure. When her sinfully rouged lips wrapped around the beast's head and sucked, Draco's trousers tightened. He felt his mother's eyes upon him and looked away.

He was far less graceful with his own crawfish, but by the end of the main course, he was holding his own. His mother certainly seemed to have learned the art well enough. She laughed at his clumsy, messy attempts to eat the shellfish, told him how her own first experiences had been as embarrassing.

The small group of diners laughed with ease, in fact. It was a relaxed atmosphere, possibly designed by the wine pouring freely. Draco was hardly surprised to see Maite's bare foot rest against the table while she leaned backward in her chair. He also didn't miss his mother's expression of displeasure at the gesture. Or Marie's.

When the last drop of wine was drunk and the last laugh came out on a sigh, the dining room doors flapped open like a gull's wings, admitting a woman Draco hadn't met. She was an exotic beauty, head wrapped like his mother's and skin caramel brown. Her eyes were dark but warm. She smiled to reveal small white teeth and set the dishes she carried down upon the table. "Das hot, now," she warned in a honeyed voice and heavy island accent.

"Thank you, Aizan." Marie gestured to Draco. "This is Narcissa's boy come to join us at last. Draco."

Draco rose, gave his introductory bow. Aizan grinned. Her laughter was a strange music. "Oh, you can tell he not from round here!" But she bowed back. "Iss a pleasure to make ya aquaintance, young master."

He blushed, suddenly feeling rather foolish for some reason. "Aizan is our cook," Marie intoned from the head of the table. "Among other things. But mainly, she is the glue that often holds what's left of this crumbling outmoded aristocracy together. Thank you, Aizan."

"Yes, ma'am."

So he'd bowed to a servant. His blush deepened, but no one remarked upon the faux pas. In fact, there seemed little distinction between the diners and the lady who'd brought them dessert. A plate landed in front of him, and his mother was pouring something pale from a sauce pot. It smelled like all the sweetness in the world…

"Bread pudding," Narcissa said. "You'll love it, darling." She well remembered his penchant for pastries and gave him a wink.

Draco took a bite of the buttery, sugary, hot, soft concoction and melted along with it. His mother was right. He tasted lust and taboo and the vaguest hints of something forbidden opening up to him at once. When his eyes opened, three witches were watching his want unfurl. And he imagined he'd only begun to sample the flavors of this lost and alien place.

Belly full to bursting, Draco retired to his room after supper. His mother accompanied him, leaning happily upon his arm as they climbed the stairs. They left Marie and Maite smoking fragrant hand-rolled cigarettes at the dining table. The sisters' watery voices echoed for a time, their conversation familiar and comfortable.

Draco pulled his wand from his sleeve, enlarging his shrunken belongings and sending them to wardrobe, nightstand or chest of drawers. A quick dusting charm brightened the mirror atop the chest and in it he saw his mother reclining on his bed, the waxing moon behind her. The heavenly body cast a glorious glow upon her heavenly body, and Draco paused, imagining…

He shook his head. Began shedding his travel-worn clothes. "Tell me about Marie and Maite," he said.

Narcissa shrugged. "They're peculiar," she began. "But kind-hearted. At least to me. They've been very good."

"They're like no Malfoys I've ever met."

"No. No, they're not." Narcissa took a deep breath. "Distant cousins, I believe. But the family is just as old. They were some of the original settlers in New Orleans. I'm certain they'll take us there soon. I've been. We stay in the French Quarter apartments. You'll like the city, I think."

Draco nodded, rubbing his bared chest. "Neither of them are married?"

Another shrug. "Not to my knowledge." Narcissa looked away when he stepped out of his trousers. "Though I believe Marie is attempting to encourage Maite to do so. Some wizard from the north."

"I see." Clad in his cotton sleep pants, Draco climbed onto the bed. He sank into the thick down mattress and groaned. Every part of his body hurt from exhaustion.

His mother cleared her throat. "I suppose I should tell you…"

"Tell me what?"

She rolled her eyes, an adorable gesture of deprecation. "Marie and Maite. They're…you know."

A slow smile spread. He loved seeing his mother discomfited. "Sisters?" He hedged.

She scowled at him. "Yes, that. And…lovers. I'm fairly certain."

"Fairly certain?" He chuckled. "That's quite a thing to be fairly certain about, mum." But he didn't doubt her words at all – not after the kiss he'd witnessed earlier. "What makes you think such a thing?"

"They're not exactly secretive about it!" Narcissa defended quickly. "But I would rather you stayed clear of them just the same. I don't care for the looks they give you."

"They're my cousins, mum."

"And they're sisters."

"Point taken." Draco turned onto his side to regard her fully. "I shall make it a point to avoid my sexually deviant cousins, mother."

"Thank you." She laid back and looked up at his canopy. Her lips pursed. "It's a strange way of life here. Strange magic." She smiled. "Strange people."

Draco blinked. Her liquid blue eyes shimmered in the moon's light. "Mother."

The eyes closed. "Yes."

He hesitated. Licked his lips. "Do you think about home? About father?"

She loosed a small, impatient sigh. "Of course, I do."

He pushed his luck. "D'you think about us? About what happened -"

"I should leave you." She rose from the bed as though burned. He'd pushed his luck too far, it seemed. "You'll be able to have a lie in tomorrow. We don't rise early." Her bare feet padded swiftly toward his door.

"Mother."

"Good evening, son."

"Mum!" But his door closed, swinging a barrier of oak between them. "Damn it!" Impotently, his fist slammed feather mattress. He flopped frustrated into pillows that smelled of herbs and moist earth. Exhaustion lowered his defenses, opened a flood of memories rivaling the wrath of the Mississippi...

**AN:** I'm back. And yes, I intend to finish Complex Elektra. But as usual, my time spent in the Louisiana bayou and the glorious city of New Orleans has inspired me. This time, I felt more strongly compelled to give a sense of the place. So more than a simple one-shot is necessary, I fear. Please indulge me, and I hope you enjoy this odd offering. And if anyone is interested in Aizan's homemade bread pudding, let me know. I can probably convince her to share. Also the house Marie and Maite inhabit is based on the beautiful Felicity Plantation in Saint James Parish, Louisiana, along with its sometimes less well preserved but no less exquisite sisters in Terrebonne and surrounding bayou parishes.


	2. Chapter 2

_She sat to her vanity, a white satin dressing gown making her a sort of fairy goddess in the starlight. She was applying some tincture or another to her face. Not that she needed it. He watched her for a time before clearing his throat._

_"Draco." Softly, she greeted him without turning._

_"Mother." He entered her chambers, sat upon the cushion at the foot of her bed. The sound of a jar lid whirring closed was nearly deafening. There had been such silence for so long in the manor. Draco rested his elbows on his knees and stared at the intricately woven rug. Her presence alone was comfort._

_"You're troubled," she murmured._

_She knew him too well. He nodded. "I'm worried about father."_

_"I know." Her brush made a silken sound in her long locks. She pulled the mass of curls over one shoulder to tend it. "I am, too."_

_"What can we do?"_

_She went still. He glanced up and gasped, catching sight of her reflection in the mirror. "Merlin, mum!" She tensed when he knelt beside her, tried to pull away from his hands on her face. "What the fuck..."_

_"He's not himself," she whispered._

_Draco stroked the bruise spreading fast across her right cheek. His nostrils flared when she winced. "It's no excuse." Tears broke free beneath his thumbs. "Oh, mother." She folded like origami - paper thin fragility. But her sobs shook her with warrior strength. He clutched her as if he might break her himself. "We can't live this way. I can't see you hurt."_

_"Draco," she whimpered._

_"Perhaps St. Mungo's -"_

_"He'll die there!"_

_"Or we'll die here!" He pushed her back, desperate for her to see the desperate in his eyes. "Please, mum." He put his lips to her forehead. "It's not as if anyone else is going to help us." She sniffed and he kissed her injured cheek, felt the heat in the flesh. "All we have is each other."_

_Her fingers curled round his upper arms and she nodded, knowing the truth if reluctant to accept it. The motion slid her lips closer to his. He felt her moist breaths puffing against his cheek, smelled the mint of her tooth polish and the warm earthen herb of her salve. Only a fraction of a millimeter..._

_Her lips were cloud-fleeting. Trembling. He never kissed them before - always it had been her motherly cheek, her formal hand. They weren't like the lips of the girls he'd kissed at school - thin or clumsy, undisciplined over teeth._

_His mother's lips were prey. Yielding and plump. Edible. He sucked the bottom one between his own and she suddenly struggled against him, muttering into his mouth. He gave close chase, heard her vanity bench topple over. Unbalanced, he pressed her to the unforgiving furniture. With each quickening breath, her breasts flattened to his chest. Her nipples were hard and peaked, slippery beneath satin and despite herself - despite her struggle - he tasted her tongue. Felt the rough scrape of it aginst his own. he growled and gripped her hips. Suddenly feral. Less son. More -_

_A thin and reedy wail blasted them apart like a spell. Narcissa scrambled mad across the vanity, skewing pots of powder, tubes of salve. When Draco saw her wand in her hand, he drew his own. "Father."_

_"Lucius!" Narcissa panted._

_Lucius Malfoy cowered to the wall, crumpling like rubbish. He sobbed, pointing to his wife and son. Accusation too much for his damaged mind to manage._

_"Lucius." Draco watched his mother calm, watched her attempt reason. "This isn't..." She struggled. "It wasn't..."_

_Draco felt his lip curl instinctively as Lucius slid down the wall. Such a weak, pathetic excuse for a man. Draco had never seen a person break before. He cocked his head, watched intensely as Lucius Malfoy unraveled. His mother's sobs made a compelling score..._

CAW!

"Gah!" Draco jolted awake. His hand shot to his cold, clammy face. CAW! He looked to the window of his room. It was opened, left that way from the night before. The crow was perched there, laughing at him. "Bloody bird," he groused. CAW! He drew his wand and the insolent creature flapped away. "Thought so," Draco muttered.

Then he heard the more pleasant birdsong and the echoes of cicada and bullfrog. His first bayou morning.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He'd never even changed his clothes. Yesterday's sweat and sticky had cooled in the night, creating an almost protective layer of filth on his epidermis. Not to mention his mouth tasted terrible. He smacked his lips as he retrieved clean clothes from the wardrobe.

The corridor outside his room was quiet, but he heard voices downstairs. He recognised his mother's lilting laugh. They must have been at tea.

The door to the lavatory was cracked and he pushed it open. It was larger than he'd expected, obviously renovated multiple times. A clawfoot tub rested oddly in the center of the green tiled floor. Porcelain sink a few feet away, and an old fashioned toilet with a pull chain.

He arranged his toiletries in a mirrored cabinet above the sink and set his clothes on a wooden chest beneath a window. There was no curtain to be seen, and he scowled a little at the thought of that old crow spying on him. But he was gagging for a bath, and couldn't be bothered with the thought of any audience.

His mother was right. The pipes complained painfully when he turned on the taps, but the water heated quickly and he could have positively orgasmed as he sank into it. After a soak, he scrubbed vigorously with the homemade soap and a thick flannel. Mint and shea butter - warmed - lent a now familiar herbal smell to the whole room. He used it on his hair, too, dipping to rinse.

He rushed through brushing his teeth, stomach growling for breakfast, and felt much better by the time he hit the first floor. He followed the laughing voices through the front doors and onto the generous deck. The screen door banged behind him, announcing his arrival.

"Well, good morning!" The drawl was unmistakably Marie's. She was seated with her sister and his mother at a cloth draped table. "Sleep well?"

He nodded, approaching the table sheepishly. "I did." There were empty plates before the ladies. He sat in the chair beside his mother. "I apologize for being late to breakfast."

"Breakfast?" Maite laughed and poked his thigh with bare toes. "We're having brunch, you silly shit."

"Maite!" But Marie was laughing. And so was his mother. Peculiar...

"Are you hungry, darling?" Narcissa asked. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes sparkled.

"I am." As if on cue, Aizan leaned from the front door.

"Do bring us another, Ai," Marie called. She held aloft a glass of suspicious red liquid. "For our newest young master. In fact, I think we could all use another round. And maybe some buttered biscuits, too."

Draco peered at his mother's empty glass. Ice bled watery red. A celery stalk snapped between her teeth. "What is that?" He asked. Maite snickered and he glared at her. She snickered harder.

"It's a Bloody Mary." Narcissa answered. "Or...it was a Bloody Mary."

"Ah." He looked dubiously at the emptied glass.

"It's what happens when tomatoes and vodka go to Heaven," Marie supplied.

"And fuck!" Maite added.

"Maite!" But Marie was laughing.

Narcissa hid her grin behind her hand. "It's quite good," she murmured.

"Aizan makes the best bloody Bloody Mary in Louisiana," Maite said.

"And mint julep," Marie added.

"And mint julep," Maite repeated solemnly.

Narcissa hiccoughed.

Draco was staring at his tipsy mother in fascination when the door banged open again. Then, a glass of bright red libation was set before him. There was also a platter of fluffy, puffy rolls. Biscuits? Not like any he'd ever seen.

"Cheers!" Maite and Marie chimed, raising their glasses. Draco and Narcissa joined in the toast, and he took his first sip of spiced southern sin.

"Circe's sweet teats," he hissed as the bite back of his tongue subsided. "That's...just incredible."

"Try not to drink it too quickly," his mother warned. "It's strong."

But 'try not to drink it' simply didn't compute when ice clinked invitingly and cold heat burst across his taste buds. Not to mention hot biscuits and sweet cream butter were weaving a delicious spell of their own. He'd eaten four when Maite teased him again.

"Those must be some damn good biscuits."

"Aizan makes the best biscuits in Louisiana," Marie slurred.

Draco nodded in agreement, swallowing his last bite of fourth biscuit. "It's like..." He reached for words. The Bloody Mary seemed to usher verbiage to the forefront of his mind and clarity clipped the wings of vague. "It's like eating out an angel."

"Draco!" But Narcissa was laughing. And so was Maite. And so was Marie. And beautiful, smiling laughing Aizan appeared, setting another sweating red concoction before him. And the palm fans on the ceiling waved their charmed fronds. And his mother's bare shoulder brushed his own as she reached for a biscuit and the smell of herbs and earth wafted and Draco leaned his head back and closed his eyes and for just that moment at least...

Life was perfect.

* * *

America was odd. In Britain, the wizarding world was protected and isolated strictly by the Statute of Secrecy. Draco felt comfortable in his separateness, safe from muggle eyes. But here, while the Statute still forbade serious transgressions of magical upon muggle, it allowed for a wide overlapping of cultures. Muggles seemed to acknowledge magic with a fascination, or to view it as a harmless novelty.

It had become clear to him in recent days that his magical cousins relied on muggles for their very livelihood. It seemed they raised crops. Depending on the season, they were highly successful (magically, of course) in cultivating large crops of strawberries, corn or tomatoes. There was also a rather productive winery - one of a very few in the state - called (unashamedly) Magica.

Draco viewed this odd relationship warily. He blamed his distrust (or dislike, really) of muggles on his pureblood rearing and his father's firmly taught prejudice. So when various muggles came to the plantation house to discuss business with Marie, Draco watched them from around corners or beneath shadowy nooks. He was surprised to see his mother exchange greetings with a few of them.

"They're just like us, I suppose," she told him one afternoon. "In fact, the men are quite...intriguing."

He'd been disturbed by her comment for a variety of reasons. Firstly, it seemed he was losing his mother to this alien muggle/magical melting pot. Secondly, he worried he would never be able to relate to her acceptance, her enculturation. He feared he would make himself a hermit and watch his mother niche into happiness without him. Thirdly, he was reminded how quite young she still was. He saw her grow more and more confident in the southern sun, more independent.

She was no more the wife of Lucius Malfoy - ground to a pale and pretty paste beneath the husband's cold and crazy thumb. Now she was life and color in bright frocks and elaborate head scarves. He'd never seen so much of her skin, so many curves...

And she was noticing men. Muggle men. The thought vexed him. He watched her eyes follow the strapping young worker boys who frequently visited the house. How she licked her lips. The flare of her nostrils. The deep pink that stretched across her chest and cheeks.

_Disgusting_.

He seethed with jealousy.

He knew what he'd felt that night back home. The night he'd nearly had her. He'd felt surrender in her. And want. Desire. Ache. Need. He'd tasted the delicious possibility of carnality in her spit and felt the rivulets of chill spreading from her melting ice. _So close..._

And of course, she'd run. Skittish. And ashamed, he imagined. She'd left him to see to his father's installation at St. Mungo's, the closing up of the Manor, the handling of accounts. He'd done it alone beneath the cold stares and wagging tongues of all who abhorred the Malfoy name.

Those months had not been easy. Haunted by the ghost of her lust and the memory of her ultimate rejection.

And now she wouldn't speak of it. He watched her from the front doors. She sat at the deck table with Marie, deep in discussion over a Tarot spread. Her back was to him, and she was as oblivious as ever to his presence. A bead of sweat slipped down her neck, followed the slope of her spine. He imagined chasing it with his tongue.

"Whas got you to scowl like a old owl?"

He turned. In the darkened dog walk stood Aizan, hand on cocked hip, regarding him with a smirk. A genuine smile spread across his face. He couldn't seem to control it around this woman. "I suppose I'm just...brooding."

"Only good for hens and old mens." The Haitian beauty gestured for him to follow her. "Come on here. I'm making up a pitcher of mint julep. Miss Maite is coming home from Nawlins today and I 'spect she'll be wantin' one."

"Yes, ma'am." Draco had discovered the comfort alcohol offered with ease. Bloody Mary's, hurricanes, mint juleps... Tasty and refreshing momentary escapes from memory, trouble, envy and incest. The libations imbued him with patience. And he noted how his mother seemed to enjoy them, as well. He wondered if she found the same values in the potables.

"Seems to me there's about three things in dis world make a young man such as yourself trouble." Aizan spoke as she worked, chipping ice in the porcelain farmhouse sink. "Mamas and daddies and the wrong kind of ladies. So which one is it?"

Draco watched the cook's smooth shoulders flex. He couldn't explain what it was about her that relaxed him so, made it so easy to talk. "I suppose it's all three."

"Oh, hell." Aizan chuckled. "Could be there ain't no help for you, bebe!" But she sobered when she saw his face. Shaking powdered sugar over ice, she asked him softly, "You want to talk? I keep more secrets than God himself."

And suddenly, talking seemed the solution. "I want to talk to my mother," Draco said. "But she avoids me. As if that will make everything that happened just disappear! I know we're magical, but we can't make the past not happen at all. Not even a time turner can do that. I don't know how to make her talk to me."

"You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make her drink it." Aizan watched bourbon colour the pitcher as though Midas had touched it. "What happened that she keepin' so shut up in her heart?"

Draco inhaled the sharp scent of fresh chopped sweet mint. He leaned on the kitchen island close to Aizan. He opened up without a thought for decorum. He told her everything with brevity and practicality; how the Malfoys had fared during the war, how they'd fared after, Lucius' deepening insanity, Narcissa's hardening shell, and his own dark desires.

She stirred the pitcher lazily as he talked, never looking away from his eyes. When he spoke of that fateful night at his mother's vanity, Aizan closed her eyes. "Poor bebe," she murmured. "Somethin' in that Malfoy blood..." She sighed and pulled a tray from a cupboard. Set four glasses upon it. "You got bad troubles, young master. Gotta decide what you want 'fore you go trying to make dat horse drink."

"I know what I want." He spoke firmly, assuredly.

"And whas dat?" Aizan balanced the tray laden with pitcher and glasses.

"I want her."

The cook tisked. "Well, then..." She swept from the kitchen. "You best take that horse to the water."

Draco followed her into the dog walk. "What do you mean?" He called.

Aizan turned toward him. In the dimness, he saw the glint of her eyes. "She ain't gonna talk here, bebe. Not where she can hide from you 'mongst all us folk. You best take her off somewhere if you want her to yourself. Besides..." She turned away again, added as an afterthought as she whisked away, "You might want to get her away from here before dem sisters finally get their way with her."

He watched Aizan enter the sunlight of the deck. Heard the screen door bang shut behind her. Added one more disturbance to his growing list of daunts and doubts.

**AN: **Thanks to all for your kind reviews and support for this piece. I confess I worried it was iffy at first, but my 'most faithful' have come through for me as always. Anyone who's wondering, let's just say the Malfoys herein were enjoying Bloody Mary's created with Zing Zang Bloody Mary Mix. Best damn Bloody Mary's on the planet. Also, I've had a few pm's regarding a recipe for Aizan's bread pudding. So. This is as close to Mulate's as you'll get without going to Mulate's.

**Ingredients**

• 1 loaf stale French bread  
• ¼ can evaporated milk  
• 1 pound butter  
• 1 ¼ cups sugar  
• ¼ pound raisins  
• 3 eggs, beaten  
• 3 tablespoons vanilla extract  
• ¼ cup brown sugar

**Directions**

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Wet the bread and squeeze the water out of it. Melt the butter and mix with all other ingredients. Pour mixture into a well-greased 4 x 10-inch baking pan. Bake for 2 ½ hours. The pudding will rise in the first hour. After an hour, remove pan from oven and stir the mixture to tighten it. Return to the oven for the second hour of cooking.

**Jamaican Rum Sauce**

**Ingredients**

• ¼ stick butter, melted  
• 1 cup sugar  
• 1 cup flour  
• ½ cup Jamaican rum

**Directions**

Place all ingredients in double boiler and cook for 10 minutes. Beat until fluffy.

Thanks out to my soul freak for her valuable opinions on this piece, and (always) Wes.


	3. Chapter 3

_He can't be expected to understand._ Narcissa touched the ends of her hair to her lips, watching her son sulk against the stone railing. _But he has to know it's wrong. I'm his mother._ Her other fingers lingered delicately over the card - the two of cups.

"Still with me?"

"Hm?" She was shaken back to immediacy, tearing her eyes from her son's lanky brood to Marie's seductive stare. "I apologize. I was..."

"No apologies necessary...mum." Marie's suggestive tone and wink were unsettling. But her appraising gaze upon Draco was even moreso.

Narcissa bristled and pushed noisily away from the patio table. "Thank you kindly for the reading, Elle." She spoke brusquely, swiped at the front of her frock. "I believe I'll have a constitutional now."

"Now?" There was something always so knowing in the elder sister's voice - and bordering on mocking. It made Narcissa defensive.

"Yes. It's a lovely day." She looked to her son. "Draco? Would you accompany me?"

A flash of guilt when his surprise was evident. Embarrassment swept up her neck and into her face. "Accompany you?" He gestured to himself as if to say "Me?"

Narcissa colored further. He could have been a _bit_ more insinuating... "Yes. Sometimes sons join their mothers on walks."

He blinked. His eyes were the color of the not-quite-storm-clouds meandering overhead. His arm bent toward her and she took hold of it. "Of course, mother." Marie was laughing softly as they left the porch, her cards shuffling in her hands and ice cracking in her mint julep.

By unspoken agreement, they ended up on the worn path to the pond. At the back of the property - what Maite called the 'north 40' - was a sizable marshy pond. There were ducks there and other swamp life, including a slow but ill-behaved alligator called Mr. Tom.

The Malfoys walked in companionable silence. If there was tension between them - and there absolutely was - Narcissa managed to cloak it by humming. Her fingers absently stroked Draco's arm through his linen shirt. The sleeves were rolled to beneath his elbow and occasionally, she felt his cool skin.

Draco's face seemed impassive, for most of their journey. But as the pond and its pussy willows came into view, a smile spread. "What the devil are you humming?" He asked.

She chuffed laughter. "Something Maite and Aizan sing sometimes." They approached the water's edge and like a boy, Draco took up a handful of stones to skip.

"It has words?" He asked, tossing his first stone.

Narcissa watched the flat rock skate across the stillness. "It does." She climbed onto a smooth boulder and sat, tucked her legs beneath her gracefully.

"Sing it."

"What?" Her eyes widened charmingly.

Draco grinned. "I said sing it. Sing the words."

She considered. Hadn't sung to him since he was a baby, really._ Oh, well. What's to lose?_ She cleared her throat, ignored the heat edging its way into her cheeks. In lullaby range, she sang.

"Peaches in the summertime Apples in the fall If I can't get the girl I love I don't want none at all."

Draco watched her. She felt his eyes as though they were his fingers and turned her head away from the stare. A pussy willow bobbed against her hip and she took hold of it, plucking at the grey tufts as she sang.

"Shady grove, my little love Shady grove, I know Shady grove, my little love I'm bound for shady grove."

Still his stones skipped, making an occasional jazz rhythm to accompany her smooth tones. He was so quiet...

"When I was a little boy My mama told me If I never kissed a girl My lips would grow all mouldy."

She finally hazarded a glance at her son. He was smirking, head bobbing lazily as he selected another stone for skipping. A curl of overlong blonde hair fell over his right eye. He blew it away absently.

"When I was a little boy I wanted a whittlin' knife Now I am a great big boy I want a little wife."

Hands empty of stones at last, he brushed them clean on khaki trousers. Narcissa tensed only slightly when he leapt onto the boulder beside her and sat. Folded long arms over raised knees and stared out at the pond.

"Peaches in the summertime Apples in the fall If I can't get the girl I love I don't want none at all."

Her eyes closed. The crickets had joined her song with their own, and the ducks made their ways home to roost. Such was peace.

"Shady grove, my little love Shady grove, I know Shady grove, my little love I'm bound for shady grove."

She felt the denuded pussy willow plucked from her fingers and looked down. Draco's hands - a man's hands now - tossed the abused foliage into the drink. She didn't look up at his face. "Lovely song, mum."

She shrugged. "I think it's quite old. And they sing it differently every time." Crickets. Ducks. A loon. Cicadas. How could there be such silence with such noise?

"Mother."

She closed her eyes again, prayed for patience. Prepared her mantra. _I can't do this now, son. Please. Can't we discuss this some other time? Or never?_ "Yes, Draco?"

"You've been to New Orleans?"

Her eyes snapped open. _What?_ "Yes...with Marie and Maite a few times."

"Do you like it?"

She regarded him. He still stared at the water, not at her. "I do." She answered hesitantly, uncertainly. "I find it invigorating in its...strangeness."

"I want to go." He finally looked at her directly. And there was the spoiled determination she remembered from his youth; only now, the look was less petulant and more...sultry. When had his lips grown so full? A brief memory of that fullness suckling her tongue - "Come with me?"

She suddenly remembered to breathe. "What?"

"Come with me. To New Orleans." He stood, offered her his hand. "I'll need a tour guide."

He pulled her to her feet with ease. "If you like," she said. "Perhaps if Marie and Maite have business -"

"Just us."

"Well, I'm not truly certain..." She couldn't contain a tiny yelp of surprise when he lifted her from the boulder by her waist. When had he grown so strong? A brief memory of that strength pinning her back to her vanity's mirror, the hands harsh on her hips -

"I'm certain we'll be fine on our own." The firmness in his voice put stop to any argument she had. It did something else, too - stoked an ember in her abdomen.

"Oh," she murmured. She stood quite close to him, held her breath, waited for...what? He flicked at her shoulder. She looked down to see her peach colored scarf had come loose. Draco had sent it trailing down her back.

"I like the new look, mum," he told her. "But I miss your hair sometimes."

"Ah." And a part of her wanted more just then. Wanted something. Something nameless but no less wrong. Something she saw in the flirting eyes and shy smiles of various plantation worker-boys - the ones her son's age or sinfully younger. The promise of a long night of hard fucking, of sweat and wonder. Discovery. The awkward eagerness of first time. The hard body...and tender virginity...

Draco's fingers skimmed her jaw. He stepped away, left her hypnotised, muddled. "We should head back," he whispered. "Dinner soon."

She nodded, let him take her arm. As they walked the shady lane back to the house, Narcissa rested her head on her son's shoulder. She wondered - briefly, vaguely - if he still possessed that tenderness. Wondered if - as her son - he wouldn't always be so innocent.

A flash of his eyes that night, reflected in her vanity's mirror as he spun her, kissed her, owned her. Terrified her.

_No_. She squeezed his bicep. _Probably not so innocent anymore._ She couldn't decide if she was saddened...or thrilled.

They parted ways at the second floor landing - each to their prospective lavatories. Narcissa was eager to wash away the afternoon's thin layer of sweat. She selected a long violet cotton frock from her wardrobe, paused for a moment to close the storm shutters opened onto her balcony.

In the hallway, she heard water running in the loo across the way. Draco was obviously having a bath, too. Again, she compartmentalised; closed off the images of him - a pale, hot marble statue sluiced with wet - and padded barefoot to the larger lav at the end of the hall.

The 'master bath' (as Maite and Marie referred to it) was far larger than the guest bath. Elaborately decorated with fleur de lis tiles, it sported a balcony of its own. It was a guilty pleasure - bathing with those shutters opened. The morning or evening air cool on clean, warm skin. She smiled in anticipation.

But her smile faltered at the cracked lavatory door. There were sounds inside - the sloshing of water, drips and splashes, whispers echoing and (most telling) muffled giggling.

"I told you to stop biting, you naughty minx!" It was Marie's unmistakable drawl. Narcissa bit her lip, looking down the hall uncertainly before pressing herself to the wall outside the door.

"I can't resist, sissy!" Maite's tease. "I was gone for a week. Didn't you miss me?"

A breathy moan of pleasure. "Oh, Ev..._fuck_ that feels good."

"I know."

Narcissa recognised the sound of kissing - of lips meeting, sweetly sucking. She gripped her frock across her belly, fingers kneading the fine linen. Her other hand pressed flat to the embossed wallcovering at her back.

_Damn my curiosity._.. Slowly, she turned her head. The crack in the door was a sliver, but offered a superb view of the clawfoot tub...and the two witches inside it. Not to mention the full-length mirror in the background managed to capture any hidden angles.

Maite straddled Marie, holding the petite sister's head in elegant fingers to maneuver her for kissing. Marie's small hands were no less busy, massaging Maite's full breasts, tugging harshly on the excited nipples. "I did miss you, lovie," she murmured into Maite's messy brown locks, nuzzling her ear. "I missed your tits."

"Yeah?" Maite shifted, one arm dipping into the bathtub. "What else did you miss?" Marie jolted in response, arched and cried out. Her fingers gripped Maite's shoulders, knuckles white. "Did you miss my fingers, Elle?"

"Yes!" Marie's head rolled heavy across the tub's lip.

Maite attacked her prey's bared neck, growling and devouring Marie's sensitive skin. "They think you're so proper," she murmured. Marie cried out again, leg spattering water across the tile as it bent suddenly over the bath's edge. "If only they could feel how tight this cunt is for me." She grasped Marie's hair, forced the sister to check the mirror. "See what a slut you are right now?"

"Ev! Oh, gods!" Marie's arm wrapped tight round Maite's shoulders as she tensed and surged. She bit when she came, groaning through orgasm like an animal and leaving red crescents on Maite's collar bone.

Maite chuckled, nipped at Marie's jaw while they caught their breaths. "So beautiful when you come," she whispered.

"Mmm. Am I?" Marie rubbed at one of her bite marks. "It's been so long, Ev. I've forgotten what you look like when you come." Swiftly she turned the tables, shoving her sister backward into the water. Waves swept onto the tile. "Care to remind me?"

"Oh!" Maite grinned, slipping as she attempted to right herself. Her laughter turned to a gasp when Marie caught hold of her wrists.

"Up." Marie instructed succinctly. Maite's face sobered, a mask of seriousness not quite concealing blatant carnal expectation. "Like I like you, please."

"Yes, ma'am." Maite was quick to arrange herself against the tub's back, knees hooked over the rim, opening herself lewdly. She stroked down the inside of one thigh, yelping sharp when Marie smacked the wandering hand away.

"Don't touch!" Marie smiled at her sister's compliance, licked swollen lips as if anticipating a hot plate of Aizan's bread pudding. She moved closer to Maite, caressing her from her shoulders down. "Were you good in New Orleans, little sister?"

"Yes, ma'am." Maite whimpered. Narcissa knew it wasn't fear that made her voice quiver so.

"Hmmm." Marie suckled a pebbled nipple. When she bit it, Maite groaned. "I highly doubt that." Her fingers traced delicate designs on Maite's stomach and thighs. "No pretty city boys?" In the mirror, Cissa could see a finger penetrate Maite's swollen folds, pumping slowly.

"No, ma'am!"

"I don't believe you." A second finger joined the first.

"I promise!" Maite thrashed, gasping pleasure. Her fingers were death gripping the tub lip.

"Girls, then?" Marie managed an intimidating interrogation despite her own excited flush. "Am I gonna taste another pair of lips on your sweet pink pussy?"

"No, ma'am! I swear!"

"Oh, you swear, do you?"

"Yes, ma'am!"

Marie's other hand disappeared suspiciously behind her sister and Maite's eyes widened. "Not yet, you don't." Then Marie's head dipped to taste Maite's lust and the younger sister's swearing began in earnest.

"Shit! Elle, goddamn! Oh, fuck!"

Narcissa released her bottom lip. It was tingling from blood loss. The sisters were loud, obviously beyond caring who knew of their salacious activities. And she would be a liar if she claimed those activities hadn't caused a tightness in her own cunt.

But she forced herself to turn away, to step forward. Back to my room. Her bed called to her; hidden away behind mosquito netting, her own fast fingers could bring her relief, release. Pleasure was promising.

But she'd barely made two steps when the guest bath door opened and her son stepped straight into her line of vision. Bare from the waist up, water dripping down the 'v' of his abdomen to a hidden intersection of bliss, he took her in quickly. "What the hell is all that noise?" He asked.

Narcissa shrugged, flustered. "I think...the other loo is in use." She blushed deep scarlet.

"Ah." His eyes travelled over her head to foot. "Well use this one. I'm done."

"Alright." He didn't move as she stepped past him into the lav. She felt his eyes on her the entire time, and when the door closed behind her, she leaned against it and breathed.

* * *

Her bath had been in turns frustrating and fulfilling. It was a relief to wash away the sweat, shame and stickiness associated with her voyeuristic turn. But the temptation to touch herself - to achieve that same orgasmic end - had been daunting, worsened by the lingering scents of patchouli and sandalwood from her son's bath.

Draco... She rested her neck on the tub's cool lip. The reason self gratification remained just out of reach. It seemed that ever since that evening (as she had come to call it) back home, that evening he'd...nearly had her...she'd been unable to pleasure herself without Draco's intrusion. It made her feel savage, angry. Disgusting.

The plantation house was a working one. It sported some fantastically beautiful worker boys. She watched them come and go all day, often catching her curious eyes with their own. Sometimes even smiling shyly. Offering her a promise if she wished for it.

And she did wish for it. Ached for it, in fact. As if her very age demanded the sacrifice of their young lust.

But she was a mother. And young they were. Too young. As young as her son or younger. So she turned away from their smiles and blinked away from their eyes. She thought of Marie and Maite...of the rumors about the sisters and their questionable dalliances with the help.

Narcissa's lips pursed. She scrubbed at her face with a worn white flannel. She was a decent woman. Would never stoop so low as to take advantage of the innocent in such a way. Wouldn't stand for Draco to be taken advantage of in such a way!

So she only had them in her fantasies. The beautiful boys. She took their promises in her imaginings. Felt their eager, curious hands on her flesh. Fantasy was wonderful that way, allowing her to fashion them as she saw fit - cocks long and slender and reaching, or thick and stony and stretching. And they fucked her as she saw fit - fast and hard behind the woodpile, or slowly and attentively in her moonlit bed.

But always at her moment of completion, when the coil wound too tightly to go unsprung, it was Draco who appeared above her. Or behind her - sweeping her hair aside and hissing in her ear like the snake he was. Snapping her mind back to reality. She threw him away from herself, the fantasy dissolving in a plume of black smoke and the balls of her hands pressed hard into her eyes as she cursed herself for crying.

_Weak witch._ She used her toes to pull the tub's plug and dressed impatiently, wrapped her head in cerulean silk. She compartmentalised; thoughts of her son for later, thoughts of food for now. Her stomach growled and her toes patted cadence as she rushed downstairs to the dining room.

The place settings were out, but no diners had arrived. She heard the sounds of Aizan's unique trill echoing from the kitchen and went to investigate. As she approached the swinging doors, she heard her son's voice as well...and music.

_She walks so fast She looks so sweet She makes my heart actually skip a beat._

She froze in the doorway, peeking around the jamb and holding her fingers over a growing smile. Aizan's nephews - Felix and Caspar - were laughingly teaching Draco a complicated dance maneuver. Aizan was moving along with them, smooth and languid as she prepared dinner, occasionally chuckling at the boys' antics.

_My girl's the best and that's no lie She tells me that I'm her only guy. That might be true but my girl's a joy She don't play around She's right to the point._

Felix, the eldest of the two nephews, held Draco's hands between them, encouraging him to step forward and backward. Meanwhile Caspar, smiling brightly, was demonstrating a spirited lean-back. But Draco - for all his good natured intentions - seemed to have difficulty coordinating the two movements at once. His eyes, however, creased with humor and sparkled. And it had been so very long since she'd seen him look so genuinely happy...

_My girl's like candy A candy treat She knocks me right off of my feet._

They abandoned the step. Felix waved his hands dismissively and moved on to a spin. This Draco mastered surprisingly quickly, and soon Aizan was hooting appreciation as the trio whirled in tandem and synchronised their shoulder shrugs. Caspar sang along, his voice matching the fluid nature of his dancing.

_Oh Candy Your love's so sweet Oh Candy My special treat._

Slowly, Cissa's smile fell. It wasn't that her joy abated - not in the least. It was simply the fact that she noticed for the first time her son's changes. His maturity. His simple and elegant beauty. Draco had inherited the best of his parents' features, in her opinion. Her grace coupled with Lucius' confidence made him a formidable dancer, even in this strange muggle fashion.

_Candy girl You are my world I need your love each and ev'ry day. Candy girl._

When the song ended and a radio personality began gabbing, Aizan shooed her nephews from the kitchen. "Go on, now," she scolded. "I got work to do."

The teens left still laughing, escorted to the back door by Draco. Caspar taught the young wizard to high five. "You gonna come to the circle tonight?" He asked. Aizan tisked.

"Circle?" Draco looked between Caspar and Aizan curiously.

"Yeah!" Caspar grinned, nudged his brother. "You got moves alright for a foreign wizard. You should come dance wit us!"

"Maybe you learn somethin," Felix added, his Haitian-Louisiana drawl making the statement into a challenge.

"Y'all gon get dis boy in trouble," Aizan tutted. "Get on home now fore your mama comes up to the house to fuss ya."

"Bye, Auntie!" Caspar stressed. Then, more quietly to Draco, "Ten o'clock tonight. By the dock on the river."

Draco nodded, glanced at Aizan. "I'll come," he whispered.

But Aizan heard. "What would your mama think if she knew you was gettin' off to voodoo shenanigans?"

Draco leaned against the kitchen island and waggled his brows at the cook. "Who's to say she'll find out?" He plucked a cherry from the pitcher of sweet southern tea sunning there.

Aizan sighed. "Well she sho as hell ain't gon find out from me. Now go on to the dining room. This fried chicken ain't gon eat itself." Narcissa stepped into the hall and skittered toward the dining room, chewing her lip the whole way.

They ate in comfortable silence. Draco watched Maite and Marie with slightly narrowed eyes, obviously suspicious of their flushed and satisfied faces. Narcissa avoided the sisters' gazes all together, quite knowledgeable about their flushed and satisfied faces. It didn't help that she occasionally felt their feet meet beneath the table. They tittered like larks and Narcissa rolled her eyes at their antics.

Only once did she catch Draco's stare. Over their respective highball glasses their eyes locked briefly. In the glinting silver coins she saw determination...and an unsettling rebelliousness that spoke of mutiny. She sipped her mint julep and looked away, fanning her suddenly moist breast.

**AN:** The song _Shady Grove_ is indeed old. I was unable to pin down an original artist, and found various versions when I sought its lyrics. Suffice it to say, I remember my great grandmother singing it when I was a child. If anyone has any further information on the song, I would be delighted to include it next chapter. _Candy Girl_, however, is not so old. It is by New Edition and was released in 1983.


	4. Chapter 4

Draco read in the parlor after dinner. This was how they spent most evenings; Marie and Maite playing some card game or another, himself and his mother reading. Depending on the drinks served with dinner, there was sometimes wizards' chess, but usually the evening wind-down required less concentration.

Tonight, Marie and Maite lounged lazily on a shared chaise, smoking fragrant clove cigarettes and making little secret of their salacious relations. Narcissa toyed with a wisp of hair escaped from her head wrap, vaguely interested in a glossy muggle fashion magazine. Draco peered up from his book occasionally to the grandfather clock, and occasionally he caught his mother glancing at him glancing at the clock. _Unsettling_.

He intended to escape her watch tonight. Something brewed in his blood, a tumult his mother seemed content to ignore. But the flesh of the swamp stifled it somehow. And his curiosity about his mother's motives for ignoring him - for ignoring what simmered between them - was re-directed into curiosity about the spicy, strange magic in these bayou people.

The book Aizan had loaned him was on Voodoo loa - spirits the Voodoo people revered and called upon. Draco was riveted by the mythologies behind the various demigods and goddesses, mesmerised by the ornate vevés and thrilled by romantic tales of zombies, voodoo dolls and fire dances.

If his mother could adopt this muggle culture, so could he, he reasoned...in his own way. Not to mention he found a freedom in the music Aizan played in the kitchen, freedom in Felix and Caspar's loose, sensual dancing. The motion tapped an energy with no other outlet, unleashed a beast he didn't know dwelled within him. So he looked forward to this evening's escape, to dancing by the river in the moonlight.

The hurricane lamps flickered as Marie and Maite rose together, the sisters' bristling magic staticky in the room's cool humidity. Marie looked down as her sister led her hastily from the parlor. Draco watched them go with a scowl - no doubt off to...do the sorts of things he rather wanted to watch.

Once the sisters disappeared, his eyes flicked back to his book, but caught his mother staring after the departed hosts. She bit at her bottom lip, a sure sign she was troubled by something. He snorted. Not that she would ever reveal such a fact. Cracking her open would be a challenge.

But he welcomed that challenge.

9:33. He stretched. Set his book on the table by his chair. "I believe I'll retire for this evening, mother."

She looked at him gaugingly. "Oh?" Her arched brow was an invitation to mayhem.

"Yes." He coughed. "I'm tired. Will you stay up, then?"

A smile. Too knowing. "Yes. For a bit longer. Sleep well, son?"

"I will." He bent. She tilted her face to his lips. The softness of her cool cheek was a long sip of sweet tea. "Good night," he murmured against the sculpted bone.

"Good night," she whispered back.

He did go to his room, let his feet fall heavily on the stairs over the parlor. He changed his clothes - brown work breeches and his softest linen shirt. He couldn't risk ruining his fine clothes. He was pants at mending charms and knew his mother would ask questions. She paid too much damned attention to what he wore. And too little attention to...

He shook his head. Wouldn't think of any of that tonight. Barefoot, he swung over his balcony railing. He'd given thought to how he would arrive at the bonfire, and decided apparation was simply too loud. So, with practiced ease, he made the short leap to the sturdiest oak branch available - the one whose many limbs scraped the tin roof during storms - and maneuvered to the center of the tree. There, he was able to shimmy down like a marmoset.

He touched down softly on the clammy grass and ducked into the shadows of the house. He thought of the spy in the muggle movies Marie and Maite sometimes watched on the noisy television as he slinked around the corner. He was confidently hidden even from the moonlight and smirked behind a fall of wisteria.

Then he heard giggling.

He froze, certain even his breath could reveal him, and listened carefully. More giggling. Breathy laughter and gasps of pleasure. He scowled. The sisters. Trollops. His scowl turned to a shrug. Curiosity won over enmity. Timidly, he parted the veil of vines.

There, on the hanging swing beneath another great oak, dallied Marie and Maite. Not quite naked, the sisters were pawing and pulling at one another, biting, growling. Playing. Licking his lips, he eased forward just a bit...just to see -

SNAP

He winced at the resulting hush and the sting of stick splintering under his toes. Fuck, he mouthed. And suddenly wisteria was snatched from his fingers.

"You wily little weasel!" Maite hauled him from his hiding place by the ear, ignoring his hissed calls for quiet. "You were wrong, sissy! It was the other cousin!"

"Well, color me surprised." Marie drawled from the swing. She held her dress loosely over her cleavage and chuckled. "Runs in the family, I reckon." A dismissive gesture. "Let him go, Maite. I don't think it's us he's after tonight."

"Why else would he be skulking around like a skink?" Maite was less demure as she shoved Draco non-gently into an antique water pump. She seemed unashamed of her bared breasts. Though why should she be, Draco wondered. They were lovely to look upon.

Marie produced an ever-present hand-rolled cigarette. "I think somebody's sneaking out from under mama's wing tonight."

"Oh?" Maite gave him a curious brow. "We thought you _were_ your mama, you know."

"My mother would hardly be...sneaking about, as you call it. Like you!" The defense was petty, but it nearly covered his awkward embarrassment.

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time she hid for a peep show." Maite insisted. Her bitten lips quirked mischievously and she leaned into Draco's space. "Only tonight...we were gonna give her a first hand experience, so to speak."

Draco bristled, forgot his own subterfuge. "You keep your demented, dirty fingers out of my mum!"

Maite danced to her sister, laughing. Marie pulled her down, boldly cupped a breast. "Calm down...little dragon," Marie's southern slur turned his mother's endearment into innuendo. "We're just teasing." They kissed, tongues lewd and wet, reflecting the moon's light. Marie pushed her sister away only to have her own breasts attacked. "Run along to your dance, now," Marie instructed breathily. "Nobody's gonna seduce your mama..."

Draco scurried past the amorous sisters toward the dense darkness of the treeline by the lane. But he still heard Marie's parting shot echo lowly: "Except for you." The words spoken like a sensual curse haunted him even as he walked the silty trail along the river's edge.

The sound of the water lapping couldn't erase the spell, and the warm satin sand between his toes only reinforced the cousin's connection to his truth. _How could she know?_

He'd told Aizan, yes. But he trusted the mysterious cook's discretion implicitly. The sound of distant drums beckoned him on. Was it true? Would the Malfoy heir succumb to sickness and seduce his own matron? As the sound of the drums increased in decibel, the sand seemed to increase in heat.

Soon he saw a glow. Fire. His pace quickened. He couldn't be near enough the flame. And he could make out shapes - jerking, crashing, swaying, leaping, tumbling, dancing to that impenetrable drum.

Did he want to fuck his mother? Yes. Painfully. Did it matter? Not hardly. Not right now. Not when the drums insisted he was no more, no less than an animal, reminded him of his place.

Here. He seemed to go unnoticed as he stepped into the circle. Felt welcomed by the inner sanctum. Sweat was instantaneous and before he realized it, he was moving with that crowd, driven by drum and cry. Chanting, singing. Worshiping. He felt the snake wrap his spine, encourage his sidewinding hips; he heard it hissing in his blood, cooling his heart if only for this moment. _Damballah_, he thought. _Help me defeat my desires. Help me douse my fiery lust._

The tempo sped beyond control. He surrendered to it, let his body follow it, let his mind call to it. _Damballah_. On a final, frantic collective scream, the drums raced to a climactic flourish and stopped. Draco felt hot fire-kissed earth beneath his knees when he dropped hard, exhausted. _Damballah_. Through the highest flame's heaven licks he saw the moon. _Help me have her..._

* * *

The moon was bright, but Narcissa kept her wand lit and aloft just the same. The extra light of her lumos made clear the tracks she was following. True there were many foot and shoe prints lingering in the soft sand by the river, but she was most interested in the freshest ones. Her son's.

She'd waited perhaps half an hour after his departure before she sneaked after him, taking a far more direct approach than he had. She'd simply left by the front door and made her way to the still warm dirt lane. When the orange glow of the gathering came into view, she extinguished her wand's light with a whispered "nox" and ducked into the thicket of trees opposite the river.

She felt the excitement of stealth as she bent and dodged. Quiet wasn't strictly necessary, it seemed, as the gathering ahead was noisy with drums, chanting, footfalls and merrymaking, but still her soft soled slippers made little noise. Only a few yards from the ritual, she came to rest behind a thick-trunked oak, eyes wide as she peered over bark.

They danced like puppets with uneven strings. Their bodies seemed completely overcome by the quickening drum beats and incessant song. The women threw themselves into the music, skirts swirling loose, headwraps hanging or hair bared. The men were barefoot, shirtless and slick with sweat. Not just the dark skinned Haitians she'd expected, but many varying cultures, all cast together in this cauldron of fire, song and dance.

She pressed cheek to tree, watched the dancers intently. Their eyes were closed, jaws slack. _Such abandonment... When did I last feel such fervor?_ Then she saw Draco, and remembered.

His mouth was opened on a chant, dark eyes glinting as he stomped the trodden ground. Narcissa flushed, remembering those eyes devouring her, that mouth on her neck. His sinewy form jerked into a turn and his unbuttoned shirt flew like opened wings. He leapt and her breath caught. She'd known he was graceful, but hardly imagined him so crane-like and lithe. The hard body she remembered pressing into her had left a far different impression.

The drumbeat shifted and Draco shed his shirt. He was as sweaty as the men who joined him in a loosely synchronized dance. Cissa recognized Caspar and Felix, watched them move fluidly with her son. _They're so beautiful._

When had she last danced? She bit her lips. _The last time we were flush._ She remembered gorgeously outfitted ballrooms at her manor, charmed champagne fountains and coveted goblin orchestras. Lucius still whole, handsome and smiling, silver eyes undressing her. Gowns of velvet, silk and satin shed carelessly for nights of passion.

Her fingers tightened, nails gouging soft bark. And how long since she'd known passion? She watched Draco's hips snap, roll. Watched his glistening belly undulate and his long arms flex in time with the flames. Something fluttered in her own belly. _Too long._

_I shouldn't have come._ She tore her eyes from the dancers, closed them and leaned against the tree she'd come to know intimately. It was possible the image of her son as raw sex in motion might be forever imprinted on her retinas. And she felt filthy for it. _What disgusting creature wants their spawn in such a way? And he doesn't know any better._

She thought of the female dancers - all ages, all color and variety. Perhaps one of them would appeal to him, distract him from the wrongness of what had transpired that desperate night. Heat behind her eyes. Tears threatened and she squeezed them into submission. _No. That's as it should be._ _He's a young vital man with the urges that accompany that vitality! It's as sick to be jealous as it is to want._

Her fingers curled in the fabric of her skirt._ Let him go, witch. And he'll let you go, too. This is why you came here, correct? To heal, to -_ "Oh!" She was lurched from her thoughts when hands pulled hers. Her eyes snapped open and she stammered as she was swirled into shadow. "D - Draco!"

"What are you doing here?" He hissed.

"I- I -" But she had no answer, really. And her son's intensity in the knife sharp moonlight was stunning.

He held her wrists too tightly between them and she could see her hands curling impotently before her face. And his eyes, black like the river. "You followed me." His lips were tight. She nodded, lost for words. His nostrils flared, gaze raked her. "Like what you see?"

"Draco," she whimpered. "I was..." Those stupid tears had escaped, sneaked down each cheek. She hated appearing weak - especially if she was weak. "I meant no harm."

His fingers loosened their grip, slid over her wrists until he lightly grasped her hands. "Dance."

She blinked. "What?"

"You heard me." He whirled them, pulling her toward the fire and the raucous gathering. "You're here. You have to dance."

"Wait, son!" But her protests were drowned by the drumbeat, suddenly slowing. And time slowed with it, dancers seeming to freeze in mid-air. Draco dropped to his knees before her, took each calf in hand and removed her slippers. She trembled steadying herself against his shoulders. The sand in the clearing was hot, probably absorbing the warms of fire and feet.

Then Draco rose and before thought - before question or hesitation - his body molded to hers and her heart stopped. He curled an arm around her back, bent to embrace her, and began to move.

His chest pushed against hers, shoulders curling, forcing yield into her her resistance. When his feet marched forward or backward, hers followed instinctively. They blended so easily with the beat, the chant, the heat. The crowd seemed as oblivious to them as they were to it.

Relaxing into their river-like flow, Narcissa folded her arm around his shoulders, used her other as a ballast. Draco's muscles sluiced and seemed to weave beneath her fingers. His eyes didn't leave hers and she wondered if the sweat that had broken sudden and thick across her cleavage was a product of their dancing or the tension melting between them.

When he spun her out, she was loath to leave him. But he held to her hand. "Like this," he instructed. She watched his feet stamp the earth, turn; she emulated. "Looser." Draco leaned toward her to be heard over the music. "Come here."

She oomphed when her back hit his chest, tensed at the feel of obvious animal desire pressing above her bum. His hands folded round her hips. "Move with me," he murmured directly in her ear, raising a shiver despite the heat. His hips dipped, rolled upward, taking hers along.

"Draco." She gasped. He repeated the gesture until it felt natural. Narcissa placed a hand atop one of his, slid the other backward around his neck.

"Good, mother." Dragon's breath against her neck. His free hand slid up, over her abdomen and belly to rest just beneath her breasts. "So good..."

When they shifted again it was Narcissa who initiated the maneuver, turning to face him, cup his jaw and watch his eyes. Their hot breath mingled. Her breasts brushed his chest. His hands roamed her dancing form, clutched the linen of her skirt, then boosted her easily when the drums sped again.

She pressed her forehead to her son's, sweat mixing. Wrapped her legs around his waist and again surrendered to the music. Rode his hips and trusted him to support her when he leaned her back. Her fingertips reached for the fire and she'd never felt so free...or so aroused.

And when the drums dropped tempo again, demanded that intimate dance, the Malfoys delivered. Draco slid Narcissa down his body. She staggered slightly when her toes touched ground, but she fell back into their flow soon enough, not even noticing he was moving them away from the fire.

Then her feet felt grass. The coolness of moist forest earth and shadow lent her sense. Momentarily. The sense left again quickly and completely when her back met tree and her son's mouth met hers.

She kissed him back. Stupid with lust. Cut from sanity and infected with fire and drum, her hands danced over his sticky skin and made no move to stop his rucking her skirt. Night air and moonlight cooled her thighs, but just. He was rough with her slip of knickers, tore the lace. "Draco!" She tried - for a second - to remember this was wrong, but the drums - and the sleek, slithering insistence of her son - wouldn't let her.

"I want you so much," he huffed into her neck, hips shimmying off opened trousers.

"I'm already yours!"

"I know." His fingers delved, touched the wet flood from her cunt. His fingers penetrated and she knew she was revealed for the slattern she'd become - her core as hot as the earth's.

She groaned when the fingers moved, curiously explored her desire. Her body woke, wanted and seized. "Now, Draco!" She leapt a little. He caught her with ease, pressed her into bark, urged her legs round his slimness again and -

"Oh, gods!" Their exclamation was shared, a guttural sound of hunger and satiation. Animal and spiritual. Inarguably destined and sanctified in Voodoo rite, they were initiated.

He felt like hard heaven splitting her open and she needed the pain, the pleasure he offered because it suddenly felt like the only thing standing in the way of certain death. And Draco obviously felt a similar urgency. He clutched her head, tangling his fingers in her loose hair and pulling, making her meet his desperate stare.

So she watched his face as he fucked her. Recognized the abandonment in his features and knew that she mirrored it. Because this was addictive - the burn of his cock stroking her over-eagerness, the rough pump of each snake-like thrust stopping her breath, the scratch of bark at her back.

They kept time with the drumbeat. Steadily increasing pace as the tempo built. And as if they knew, the dancers' chants grew louder, almost urging the private dancers hidden in shadow to surrender to the inevitable. Not that Narcissa needed encouragement - powerless to resist the pleasure, she let it roll over her like the river nearby. She heard the rush of it in her ears and felt the wave of it in her cunt as her son surrendered, too.

Her toes cramped. Thighs trembled aftershocks. She burned and quivered in places long numbed, now awakened. Draco lowered her slowly to the ground, pulling his trousers up after depositing her. He caught himself on the tree behind her when his own knees threatened to give. "Oh!" She grabbed him, helped steady him, and he gave her a shaky, satisfied grin. She smiled in return. Caressed his face. "Draco."

He returned the loving touch, cupping her jaw, moving to kiss her. But sudden snickering stopped them. They looked just in time to see Caspar and Felix darting from the forest's edge. Obviously the two Haitian boys had seen something of the Malfoys' amorous antics.

Narcissa worried. But Draco's placid features calmed her. "It's alright," he murmured. "They mean no harm." Again he took her face in his hands. And this time, the only witness to their kiss was the moonlight.

**AN: **This chapter dedicated as a belated birthday gift to Narcissa's Dragon, who no doubt knew why when the drums kicked in. Thank you for being a friend, prat in the hat.


	5. Chapter 5

Birds. Her first awareness of the morning. Birds. There must have been a thousand different birds here, and they were most vocal in the mornings. Her second awareness was the tell-tale bruised feeling between her thighs. She flushed and turned her face into her pillow, sparking her third awareness: the warm masculine body spooned to her back, long leg curling over hers, exposing their bare skin to chill dawn.

A soft snort. "Mrph."

Narcissa bit her lip. Draco's arm tightened over her midriff, the hand slipping up to cup her breast. Flesh responded instantly. Such a male, she thought, grinning. But it felt beyond wonderful to be so wanted. And last night had felt...

Fresh desire sprung wet as the morning dew and experimentally, she rubbed her bum against his expected erection. She didn't, however, expect such an immediate response, and gasped when he pinned her swiftly beneath him. "Oh!"

"Mmmm." He thrust gently into the crease of her arse before sliding downward, nudging her cunt's dripping entry with an eager hardness. "Good morning," he murmured in her ear.

"Yes, indeed." She spread her legs to allow him access and hissed when he pushed inside her.

He slowed. "Sore?" Peppered her shoulders with kisses.

She tightened on him. "A little." But "Oh, gods, you feel so good!" She gave her own backward thrust.

"Shhh." His hand kneaded her breast, pinched at the nipple. "Slow, then." And his other hand worked its way twixt her and the bed, the fingers seeking out and finding the nerve brain that would undo her.

Her body charged at the pleasure, bucked. She was too excited for his slow, wanted the rough burn that had worked so often the night before. "Whoa!" Draco chuckled at her wantonness, held tighter to her. "Fine, then," he whispered. "Not slow." The hand at her breast moved to her hip, a ballast. He planted his knees between hers and slightly bent, set a snapping rhythm.

"Fuck, yes!" Narcissa keened, panted. She arched up til they could kiss sloppily and abandoned all sensation but the one curling like steam in the sacred spot just beneath her abdomen. Every scrape, every jab of her son's perfect instrument pushed the geyser closer to the surface. She whimpered, curled her fingers in the sheets and may have heard a tear in the soft fabric.

"Hell, Narcissa." Draco grunted and she suddenly remembered he felt this as certainly as she did. "Please..."

Her name leaving his lips as such sacrilege was a prayer to her ears she could hardly ignore. "Yes, Draco." She prayed back and clenched her eyes, let the wave wash black and eddying, deeper than the delta and stronger. "Oh, there...Oh yes!"

She tossed her head and didn't censor the cry, let it come loud as she did. Her lover spiraled right after, chuffing and groaning his own animal exclamations into her hair and neck.

They cooled collapsed in a mess of soiled sheets. "I'm thirsty," Draco whispered against the nape of her neck.

"Mm." Narcissa rolled, displacing his weight. "I imagine there's breakfast."

"Brunch," he corrected.

"Or brunch." She propped on an elbow and gave him an uncertain smile. "I suppose we should leave my bed."

"Pity." He sighed. Played with a moist shank of her hair. His brow creased. "Feel... alright?"

She shrugged. "Bit chafed." Told him with a look that repercussions would be considered later. Compartmentalised. He seemed to understand, and she rolled away from his wandering caresses.

They visited separate lavatories and by unspoken agreement, Draco went downstairs first. Narcissa took a deep breath before joining the murmured conversation on the front porch. When she appeared, the murmured conversation stopped. She could feel awkwardness like a second humidity.

Marie gave her a barely controlled smile of amusement, while Maite didn't conceal her own grin. Narcissa sat primly in her seat and looked to her son. Draco's sour expression read annoyance. "Good morning," she said.

"Isn't it, though?" Marie cloyed. Maite snickered around an orange wedge. "Setsuma?" Marie offered a saucer of the citrus fruit to Cissa.

"No thank you." She set about preparing her coffee, ignoring the tension at the table.

"They're an early crop, you know." Maite snatched a wedge for herself. "Tender and juicy. Always are when they're young, I guess." She bit into the fruit.

Draco cleared his throat. Narcissa's hands settled beside her beaker. They know. She couldn't control the hot flush spreading up her chest, knew it only served to further fuel the sisters' fire. How the hell do they bloody know?!

Then Aizan breezed onto the porch with a tray of bacon, bread and jam. She slowed, seeing Narcissa at the table and the women's eyes met. Aizan's spoke of knowledge - and sincere apology. Caspar and Felix. Cissa's eyes closed as she gathered patience. When they opened, Aizan was gone and Draco was offering a rasher of crispy pork. "Eat, mum." He was obviously determined to defeat their teasing.

"Yes eat, Cousin!" Maite beamed. "Keep your strength up!"

"I always like to get a little hot meat in me first thing in the morning," Marie drawled. The sisters erupted into peals of laughter.

"Enough!" Narcissa stood and the laughter ceased. It wasn't embarrassment that fueled her outburst, but anger. As if either of them has a right to judge, much less make light. She felt her son's eyes and consciously calmed. She wouldn't allow them to shake her - to damage the tender seedling sown between herself and her son. "I'm afraid I haven't the patience for shenanigans this morning, ladies." She spoke almost sweetly, folding her serviette by her plate. And made a sudden, perfect decision. "If it isn't an inconvenience, I should like to take my son into New Orleans."

She was met with chastised and surprised blinks. "If either of you object to our use of the Malfoy apartments there, I can certainly arrange other accommodations?" She watched them expectantly, used her no-nonsense tone.

It was the elder sister who answered - overcoming both reprimand and shock with aplomb. "I'm afraid you won't make any last minute arrangements this weekend, Narcissa. Not with a music festival in town. But..." She spread her hands in a gesture of both generosity and truce. "You are more than welcome to the apartments anytime." She smirked and couldn't resist the final dig: "Cousins."

Nostrils flaring slightly, Narcissa had no response other than the polite and obligatory "Thank you." She left the table briskly, heard Draco following her.

"Mother!" He called to her, but she didn't stop until she reached the second floor landing. "Mother, please!"

She turned. "Not here, Draco." She hissed, didn't want the sick sisters downstairs to overhear any conversation she might have with her son.

He approached her anyway, soothing her with hands on her elbows. "Don't be angry," he begged. "They didn't know any better. Caspar and Felix. They see those two carry on every day and -"

"I'm not angry at Caspar and Felix!" She snapped. Finally, tears threatened. "I'm just angry that...that _those two_ know! And embarrassed, Draco! Can't you understand that?"

He made to speak when - "Ahem."

They turned, Draco's hand still cradling Narcissa's face, to see Aizan standing at the top of the stairs. She held a small urn, pretty face downcast. "It ain't my place to speak on matters of rumor, ma'am." Again, she met Cissa's gaze, sympathy in the warm pools. "But I do apologize that the source of those rumors was my own family. And..." She trailed off, lost for words, before offering the urn. "I just thought to bring you the floo powder. As Marie said y'all might be in a hurry to make Nawlins."

Narcissa nodded. Chin up. "Thank you." Draco took the urn and Aizan turned to descend the stair. "And Aizan?" The dark lady turned. Narcissa faltered for a second, choosing her words carefully. "Caspar and Felix are just boys." A light blush. "If anything, I should apologize for -"

Aizan raised a hand. "Ma'am." She smiled. "Dis is the bayou. It's got a life, a magic and a faith all its own. And it don't ask for no apologies." A brief bow of finality. "Y'all take care in the city. And enjoy yourselves."

The Malfoys watched her leave, then looked at each other with fresh and wondrous eyes.

**AN: **Sorry for the wait on this one, everyone. I truthfully don't want it to end. But alas, the time is nigh. Next chapter brings the Malfoys to the Big Easy at last. I hope you'll enjoy it as much as they will.


	6. Chapter 6

Narcissa stepped first from the floo. Afternoon sunlight intruded through slats in the tall windows' storm shutters. Glittering dust swirled in the golden glow. The parlor smelled of mint, warm cobblestone and cooked seafood. She inhaled deeply as Draco stepped out behind her.

The city's sounds were muted, and when her son's arms wrapped round her from behind, the blood rushing to her ears drowned sound even more. "Mmmm." She turned her head for a kiss. "Welcome to New Orleans."

Draco turned her for a proper kiss. Caressed her face and neck. "It's a beautiful city," he murmured against her lips.

Cissa chuckled and pulled away. "Let's air things out a bit."

They opened windows, let in a soft breeze and more delicious odors. Draco's stomach growled. He stepped onto the balcony and leaned on a wrought iron railing. Below, a horse drawn carriage clopped heavily past, and on the street corner a man played a trombone. The bluesy sound wavered over voices, laughter and an occasional raucous shout. He smiled. _I could like it here._

He looked to his mother when she appeared beside him. She smiled, as well, and her cheeks were pink. Her curls fluttered when she turned her face into the river breeze. Suddenly, the city was even more beautiful. "So. Where are we exactly?"

Narcissa opened her arms. "This is the Rue Dumain." She pointed. "Beneath us is Shoppe Magique - your source for all things witchy, or a fine bottle of wine."

"All things witchy?"

She smiled. "It's a rather touristy front, really. The owner is a lovely witch named Viviane Marr. I'll introduce you. She distributes the Malfoy wine, and caters to the magical population on the side."

Draco shook his head and peered back into the street. "Hiding in plain sight."

"Absolutely." She curled a hand round his sturdy arm. "It's so strange and...wonderful."

Draco sniffed. Salivated. "What in Merlin's name is that smell?"

"Which one?"

"Like...cake."

"Oh." Her eyes brightened. "Beignets."

"I must eat beignets, mother."

"Of course you must, darling." She pulled him into the apartment. "Let's freshen up. And change. Then I'll take you to dinner. And dessert." Draco followed her through the sizable rooms of the Malfoy apartment. It was more extensive than it appeared, and doubtful due to charm work.

The ceilings were high, moldings elaborate with friezes and fleurs-de-lis. The rooms were tastefully decorated, cool plaster walls covered with various papers from stripes to provincial Blue Willow. Dark stained hardwoods creaked occasionally, consoled by a number of thick aged rugs.

"This is the master bedroom." Narcissa swung open a set of heavily embossed oak doors. She drew and flicked her wand, flooded the room with light and air from the three tall storm windows. "And the en suite is through this hallway. Draco?"

She'd realised he wasn't following her and turned. He stood in the center of the room, staring over the enormous four-poster and out the windows. She approached him. "What are you looking at?"

He hugged her to his side. "Nothing. I was just thinking how nice it will be to make love to you with these windows opened wide." He looked down at her. "Do you agree?"

She seemed taken aback. Momentarily abashed. "Oh..."

"Oh, indeed." Draco left her wondering, headed for the en suite. "Well, I suppose I'll change then. For dinner. I do fancy a bite."

"Of course." Narcissa glanced at the waiting bed, blushing brightly. She chewed at her bottom lip before swinging around a bed post. She wore an almost girlish grin as she rushed back to the parlor to collect their shrunken bags.

* * *

It was the oddest feeling - wandering the streets of a muggle city, holding hands with her son-come-lover. There was a freedom in their anonymity; an idea that no matter how strange they were, how deviant or depraved, in this place - there was someone just a bit more so. They meandered into and out of various shoppes; muggle antiquities, books, mask-makers and haberdasheries.

Draco had his first experience with muggle monies at one such haberdashery, deciding he'd squinted against the sun long enough. Narcissa humored him. Besides, he looked dreadfully handsome in the grey fedora, and he made no mention of her disappearance into the neighboring lingerie shoppe for the duration of his hat fitting. She tucked a discretely shrunken parcel into her purse and met him beneath a Rue Bourbon lamp post.

She frowned to see him smoking a muggle clove cigarette. "Disgusting habit," she snapped. Draco shrugged, offered her the fag. She took a deep drag and accentuated the action with practiced smoke rings.

Grinning, he took the spicy cigarette back. "You're a marvel, witch. Let's find some food."

Nearly overwhelming, the noise, the crowds. It seemed that from every pub streamed music and people were dancing on the sidewalks or in the middle of the streets. Cabs blew their horns impatiently and bicycle rickshaws whizzed past. Occasionally, the crush became too crushing, and Draco pulled his tiny mother protectively into a half embrace, navigated them through the throngs.

For her part, Narcissa reveled in the contact. She'd never felt so appreciated as when Draco pushed open a door for her, pulled out a chair, fed her a bit of buttery crawfish or took her hand for a dance on a bustling zydeco dance floor.

They'd chosen to eat at a restaurant called Mulate's - more for the atmosphere than any posted menu. There was a band playing the most peculiar music Draco had ever heard; accordions and piano and washboard and lyrics sang in (sort of) French. But the food had been fantastic, new spices exploding on every bite and a bread pudding comparable to Aizan's that left him pleasantly full.

So they'd watched the muggles dance for a time. Quick studies, they soon had the modified two-step memorised, and Narcissa didn't require much in the way of convincing when Draco led her to the floor. She twirled beautifully, underneath his arm and back to his chest. Her teal skirt swirled to reveal shapely legs and a generous amount of thigh as they grew bolder. And when the music slowed, they simply grew closer.

From her son's shoulder, Narcissa saw muggle smiles directed their way. _They've no idea_, she thought. _Who we are, what we've done._ She pulled away from Draco just enough to place a kiss on his shoulder. He bent his head predictably and she kissed his cheek next. Then, his lips.

"I rather like showing you off before all these muggles, mum." He spoke directly in her ear, over the thrumming music.

"Do you?"

His hands skated over the small of her back and fanned above her arse. "I do."

A thrill raced up her spine at his touch alone. This virile, promising dragon of hers... She felt emboldened by the music, the beat, the press of her son's hardness into her belly. "Do you know what I like?"

His eyes sparkled. "I have an idea." The hands slid low enough to properly grope her bum. "I want something, mother." He whispered hotly.

She swallowed, heart racing, cunt tightening. _Will I make it back to the apartments without having him inside me?_ "What do you want?" She rasped.

His teeth scraped her earlobe and she moaned. He smiled, murmured to her. "Beignets."

Their dance came to an abrupt halt when she stepped away from him. She was flushed and gaping. Muggles continued flouncing about them, unaware of any upset. "You - " She gestured between them. "I thought..."

Draco grabbed her hand, laughing. "Narcissa. Come." And he was tugging her through the crowd, out the door of the packed eatery and into almost equally packed streets. Night was falling in earnest.

"Where are we going?"

Her little frustration was charming. Intoxicating. Truthfully, he simply wanted to bask in the warmth of her desire for a while longer. Not to mention the smells and clinking ice and dewy glasses of these muggle beverages were making him mightily thirsty. "We're going to get a drink. It's New Orleans!"

It seemed every other doorway they passed was a bar. Draco lost count after a time, and it was Narcissa who finally made a decision as to where they took libations. "Oh, absinthe!" She pointed. "Father always enjoyed the green fairy. Let's have one, darling!"

"Lead on, mum."

The bar was called The Old Absinthe House. It was dark and, as expected, crowded. But the Malfoys were remarkably lucky to pass by a muggle couple vacating a tiny table beneath a wrought iron chandelier. Draco seated his mother. "I'll er...brave the bar, then."

Cissa nodded, scanned the crowd as her son weaved through it. So many red faces. So many smiles. And one could scarcely hear one's own thoughts over the din of laughter, music and rowdy conversation. She wondered if there was any person anywhere in this city who was not simply...happy. _Or drunk. _Her lips quirked adorably as she ruminated. _Or a bit of both._

"Can I buy you a drink?"

At first she wasn't even certain the address was meant for her, but a warm touch on her bare arm brought her gaze up and into the deep brown eyes of a handsome muggle man. "Ah..." She blinked rapidly and the man smiled a disarming smile.

"Sorry," he said, extending a hand. "I'm Robert." She shook the hand numbly. "I just find it a shame a beautiful woman such as yourself is all alone in this city and obviously thirsty. So what do you say? How about that drink?"

_A muggle! The nerve... What to say? And where the hell is Draco?_ She couldn't see past the broad shoulders of this intrusive muggle. "Well, I -"

"I assure you she's hardly alone." Draco slid easily into the empty seat facing his mother. "And no longer thirsty." He handed her a glass of bright green liquid and set a bottle between them. Finally, his eyes regarded the muggle encroacher dismissively. "So you may go."

Predictably, the muggle scampered. Narcissa raised a brow and smirked at her son. "Well done, darling. Quite bold, aren't they?"

"It's your dress."

"Hm?" She was sipping her drink. The bite of anise left a pleasant numbness across her tongue and she licked granules of undissolved sugar from her lips.

Draco leaned further across the table, swirling the undissolved sugar in his own absinthe. "The cut. Of your dress." He gestured. "Very flattering to your...form."

Narcissa placed a hand across her exposed chest. "I beg your pardon?"

Draco took a deep lug of his drink and laughed. "Your tits, Narcissa. They're lovely."

She blushed, cheeks scarlet in the bar's low light. "Don't be crude, son."

Draco laid the flat strainer across his mother's glass. Set a sugar cube upon it and poured bright green liquid from the bottle he'd purchased. "I think that secretly, mother..." He lit the saturated cube with a match. "You enjoy it when I'm crude."

Her eyes sparkled while he dripped water from a small porcelain pitcher, extinguishing the blue-green flame. Her first absinthe, perhaps consumed too quickly, was already putting a titillating tingle in back of her mind. "There's a time and a place for crudeness, I suppose."

"Oh?" Draco stirred her second drink and set about the ritual of preparing his own second absinthe. Suddenly, his mother's breasts filled his line of sight. He froze, slowly glanced up to see her leaning across the table.

Her own bright La Fée was a whirlpool beneath a twinkling blue gaze. "I might like your mouth filthy..." She sipped. Swallowed. "While you fuck me."

His cock hardened with surprising speed despite the drink he'd imbibed. "Fucking hell, mother."

"Yes, just like that, I think." She smiled secretly. "Draco?"

"Yes?"

"How long have you wanted this? Us?" She stared into her drink. "I mean, was it simply a sudden decision that evening?"

She was slurring only slightly, but Draco knew she was far from drunk. So was he, but his inhibitions were just low enough for honesty. And he supposed the time for this conversation was nigh. "I think I wanted you...forever." He lit another clove cigarette. "But I always felt so damned disgusting. So sick. I denied it for the longest time." She was beautifully blurry...

"What changed?" She took the cigarette. Her fingers played at the sheer mist of sweat across her chest, appreciating her son's distraction.

Draco drank. He shrugged. "I just saw you that night." He took his turn with the fag. "You looked so helpless, mum. And I felt so helpless. It seemed the only salvation at the time." With a scowl, he drained his glass once more. He regarded her patiently, waiting for focus to congeal, considered something, then decided to proceed. "What about you, then? Why did you follow me to the dance? Why did you..." His hands - slightly bleary to his own eyes - flitted amorphously in the air.

Narcissa leaned her chin on her hand, expression hazy. Lackadaisical. Her lips barely moved when she spoke, but he hear her just the same. "Why did I let you pin me to a tree with your cock?"

He laughed freely, beyond blushing. "Merlin, I'm drinking with you more often, mum. But yes. Why? What changed for you? Because if I recall correctly..." And he paused as if recalling correctly. "...you put up a decent resistance that fateful night back home in Wiltshire."

She shook her head, nostalgia softening her expression. "You would have found my resistance quite lacking...if events had progressed differently."

"You mean if your husband hadn't -"

"Your father!"

" - walked in and had a nervous fit?"

"Can you blame him?" She suddenly sat straighter. Cheeks a bit pinker. "To walk in and see his wife and son about to..."

"Oh, surely your vocabulary isn't failing you now, mum? You were so very eloquent about what passed between us just last night."

"Draco." She took a deep breath. "I believe I've had enough to drink."

"You mean the honesty is becoming too pressing?"

She was standing, albeit a bit unsteadily. "I mean I'm ready for a bloody coffee." She dusted invisible detritus from her skirt. "And I thought you wanted beignets?"

"But we still have half a bottle of absinthe!" He held up the bottle as swaying, accusing proof.

"And aren't you a wizard?" She blinked at him, lips pursed sloppily.

"Oh." She arranged herself against the tiny table in such a manner that Draco was able to discretely shrink their libation. He tucked it into Narcissa's purse and stood on his own wobbly legs. This discussion was over, for now or ever, and that was fine with both of them. "So. Beignets?"

Cissa nodded, pushed further into Draco to avoid the bar's still increasing crowd. Whether it was the drink, the warmth, the crowd or the conversation, something had upset her. In the street, there was still no respite. People were everywhere. They pressed in from all sides.

Narcissa took a moment to get her bearings, jostled on a street corner. "This way," she finally announced. She took Draco's hand tightly, leading him through throngs and ducking down darkened side alleys. In shadow, she yielded to his occasional insistent embraces, allowed herself to be pressed to cool wall by her son's hot body.

In fact, she encouraged his prurient deportment. The absinthe had left her giddy, uninhibited and lax. She cast coy, teasing glances over her shoulder, challenged him to answer her invitation. They kissed openly, often cheered on by passing muggle strangers. Draco stroked her cheek in the dim lights of Pirates' Alley. "Do you suppose they would be so encouraging if they knew?"

She shook her head. "Fortunately, we don't need their encouragement." Pulled his head to her own and let him smell the devil drink on her breath, taste the sweet, sordid sugar on her lips. Promised him more than beignets... And when he was hiking her leg above his hip, growling his own more immediate promise, she squirmed beneath his arm and free - snickering. Draco groaned and pressed his forehead to the stone, prayed to the goddess for strength, resistance and stamina.

They hurried on past street performers and incessantly calling bar flies to the busy and fragrant Cafe du Monde. After a moment's muggle-watching, they'd learned the routine and sat to another tiny table beneath a dark green awning.

Draco wobbled the table a bit. "Do you suppose there are any sizable tables in this city?"

Narcissa chuckled. "Doubtful." She ordered au laits and beignets when a harried muggle girl in a paper hat appeared, brandishing a pad and pen. Across the street, an obviously drunken muggle man was loudly singing.

"Oooooooh, ooooooooh, witchy woman! She got the mooooooon in her eyeeeeeeee..."

Draco regarded the muggle with a mixture of baleful pity and slightly inebriated appreciation. When he glanced back to his mother, she winked at him. As if by magic, a plate dropped between them and steam rose from two cups. The waitress was gone as quickly as she'd arrived, and the Malfoys were served.

"Bloody messy business, this." Draco groused, raising a powdery, hot beignet to his lips. He held his other hand open beneath the pastry, well aware his mother was watching him with great fascination over the rim of her au lait. Awkwardly, he bit the beignet. Chewed slowly, staring back at his mother. "Holy hell," he breathed. "That's..."

Narcissa chuckled, amused by her son's insatiable sweet tooth. "I knew you would appreciate them." She took one of the hot doughnuts for herself. Draco watched powdered sugar snow delicately onto her sticky cleavage. His trousers tightened. Beignets were delicious, but he'd yet to learn the true flavor of his new and eager lover. _That changes tonight. _He sipped creamy, strong au lait, letting slow sobriety mingle with the last vestiges of absinthe haze. _Quite soon, in fact._

Narcissa sighed, inadvertently blowing more powdered sugar to both breeze and bosom. She hardly cared. Her coffee was perfect and her son was licking pastry from fantastically talented fingers that promised bliss between her thighs later. _Hopefully soon... _A small, private smile when she thought of the shrunken parcel in her purse.

And across the street, the muggle sang on. "...She can rock you in the nighttime ... 'til your skin turns red... ooooooooooh, ooooooooh witchy woman... see how high she flies..."

**AN: **Thanks for reading, everyone. I'm loving writing this fic. Unapologetic smut is up next, just so you know. A little private dancing, too. _Witchy Woman _is quoted here without permission from The Eagles. Visit the playlist for this fic on my profile - it's a hoot. You know you wanna hear _Candy Girl_!


	7. Chapter 7

The apartment was cool and grey. Slivers of light found their way in through a few broken slats in the closed shutters. But the windows were wide open, allowing the thin breeze to come and go quietly, ruffling tulle curtains with its shenanigans. The tall gleaming grandfather clock tocked lazily, keeping no time at all, really.

The peace stirred at the sound of shoes in stairwell. It jarred awake violently when the door crashed into the wall, spilling muted light into the dark and ushering in two people who seemed as one.

An impatient foot kicked the door closed roughly. An equally impatient wand warded it, then clattered to the floor. A heel was kicked off and a feminine hand steadied the accompanying body against a thick plaster mantel. "Oh, Draco!"

Her mouth, finally free of his lips, was able to breathe, gasp and moan. His hands demanded her naked and she heard something rip in the rush. "Sorry," he muttered on her clavicle, then bit.

"Ah!" She thrust into his quickening embrace, but his balance was awry.

"Woah!" He managed to steady her for the two seconds it took their bodies to reel across Persian rug and collapse on chaise lounge. "Ooph!" She landed atop him, arms akimbo and legs straddling his own.

Her foot struck something. "Ow!" A witch's laugh accompanied the tumbling of a side table and the crash of its tenant - a rather antiquated vase. "Oh, dear!"

"Yes, dear." His hand sleeked up sticky thigh beneath rumpled skirt. Her mouth was a tempting delectable mess of sugar and coffee and his own spice. He squeezed her perfect plump rump roughly.

"Mmmm!" She protested into his kisses and managed to wrench free, looked down on the abandoned wizard. "Draco!"

"Narcissa!" He chased her mouth again, chuckled when she slanted a hand across his lips.

"Stop! Stop." She huffed. "I need the loo!"

He groaned. Collapsed into the lounge. "I told you to use the loo before we left -"

"It was filthy!" She stood, straightening her torn frock. She blew fringe from her eyes. "I'll only be a moment, darling. Truly." She kicked off her other heel and used bare toes to lift her purse from the floor. "Why don't you...turn down the bed?" She called as she left the room, smiled when she heard him scramble from the lounge.

"Turn-down service." He grumbled as he retrieved his wand from beneath the coffee table. "Of course." He shed clothes as he went, dropped his oxford carelessly in the bedroom doorway. Tossed his leather belt nonchalantly and flinched when he heard another crash in return.

"What was that?" He heard her call from the lav.

"Nothing!" He flicked his wand and the storm shutters blew wide. "Better." Another flick and the bed's thick and dusty duvet flipped downward. Decorative pillows spilled to the floor. He slapped his wand to a bedside table and was unfastening his trousers when something stopped him. He cocked his head.

Music.

Certainly not uncommon in this city. But this music was...soft. Subtle. A thumping sound and a soft guitar. A short step up and he was on the balcony to investigate.

The lamps were all lit. A few scattered shops were still open and here and there other inhabited apartments' windows glowed. Rue Dumain lacked the bustle of Rue Bourbon, but was nonetheless alive this night.

There, across the street and beneath a balcony a little muggle trio was making sensual sounds and attracting a small crowd. A man not much older than Draco thumbed the strings on an upright bass, while another circled plucking an acoustic guitar. The third soft-shoed on hard cobble, snapping dapper fingers. They cut a sharp sight in their matching suits and Draco smirked at their fashion sense.

Then the dancer became singer. He had a rich, mellow voice. Smooth and effortless. The song was an invitation to dance.

_I've tried so hard my dear to show_

_That you're my every dream _

_Yet you're afraid each thing I do_

_Is just some evil scheme_

Draco leaned on the balcony railing, head nodding in agreement and in time. _Muggles can be quite wise in their music_, he mused. _Though I'm still not certain about that candy girl song. _He rubbed absently the dips and planes of his bare belly, wondering and watching.

A high whistle tore him from his reverie and he blinked at two muggle women wandering past. They were young, dark-haired and scarcely dressed. "Hello, handsome!" The shorter one in red called to him. Draco straightened and made the universal gesture of 'me?' The muggles laughed. "Yes, you!" The tall one in green continued. "We got some laundry back home needs doin' if you wanna bring that washboard!"

Draco looked around, face awash in confusion. He didn't see a washboard anywhere, but when he turned to inform the muggles they were already moving on - laughing even louder - tucked into each other as if the night would tear them apart..._ Strange muggle women and their cleaning habits... _And where exactly was _his_ woman?

_A memory from your lonesome past _

_Keeps us so far apart_

_Why can't I free your doubtful mind_

_And melt your cold cold heart _

A throat cleared softly behind him and he turned. His breath caught and he gulped past the lump in his throat. "Oh hell, mum..."

She stepped onto the balcony and gave a little turn. The whorish white moonflower blooming above dipped to touch her let-down hair. "Do you like it?"

'It' was an ankle length silk affair in deeply scandalous red. 'It' clung to her every curve, revealed her entire right leg and left none of her back to his imagination. Yes, he liked 'It' very much. "C'mere."

_Another love before my time _

_Made your heart sad an' blue _

_And so my heart is paying now_

_For things I didn't do _

She smiled when he pulled her silk to his skin, began a slow sway. They were impossibly close. Below, the muggle trio seemed to serenade only them, and there was a smattering of applause and appreciative cat-calls.

_In anger unkind words are said_

_That make the teardrops start _

_Why can't I free your doubtful mind_

_And melt your cold cold heart_

"I might miss these o'er friendly muggles," Narcissa murmured against her son's chest.

"And I've no doubt they shall miss us, as well." He stroked the small of her back. His fingertips flirted with the low 'v' in the gown, dipped ever so slightly into the crease of her arse. Difficult to differentiate between gown and skin... "You are unbelievably beautiful in red, Narcissa."

"Hm." She brushed lips over his breastbone. "And you are unbelievably beautiful in nothing, Draco." She moaned when his fingertips slipped even lower. "Son..."

"What?" He whispered in her ear, brushed his bottom lip over the sensitive cartilage. "Ungh!" He couldn't stifle the grunt or the lurch when her own fingertips slipped between them to toy with the clasp of his trousers. "Mum!" Tickled like hell... "Watch your fingers!"

"You watch your fingers and I'll watch mine," she negotiated. Nipped at his tender nipple until he hissed. His arms tightened on her, but his fingers ceased their merciless tease, so she accepted the truce with a final pat upon his ample erection.

They danced a little closer, chanced (and succeeded at) a long, seductive dip. There was more muggle cheering from below. The Malfoys smiled their secret.

_There was a time when I believed_

_That you belonged to me _

_But now I know your heart is shackled_

_To a memory _

Narcissa's fingers flitted across Draco's shoulders. They caressed his jaw and lips before pulling his cheek to her mouth. She kissed there, then whispered in his ear. "Will you take me to bed, darling?"

He couldn't answer. Simply stopped swaying. Taking both her hands in his, he stepped back into the shadows of the bedroom, pulling her along with ease.

Pleased with its effect, the music followed.

_The more I learn to care for you _

_The more we drift apart _

_Why can't I free your doubtful mind _

_And melt your cold cold heart_

In the dim, Narcissa's gown was the color of blood. Draco held her head in both hands, tilted her for kissing. The kiss was abandoned, open-mouthed and wet. Kisses Narcissa had never before imagined herself experiencing. She worked open Draco's trousers and boldly stroked his hot hardness. He groaned into the kiss - an empowering sound.

When his mouth devoured her neck, she spoke breathily to the ceiling. "Do you think anyone can see us?"

"Do you care? Ah!" Her thumb stroked over the sensitised head of his cock, gathered up the wetness there and drew it down. "Narcissa." His grip on her arms became a warning.

"I don't particularly care, no." She nosed his ear. His hands quivered when she sluiced his trousers down.

"Excellent." Draco's thumbs tugged easily at the thin straps crossing her shoulders. The moonlight's silver mingled with the yellow glow of the street lamps, outlining his mother in luminescence. "Because you're exquisite like this."

She gasped, caught her breath when his lips dipped to her nipples. He sucked and nibbled as she backed to the bed. "Oh, love..." When she fell boneless against downy cotton, Draco caressed her silk-clad legs, pushed the silk up and away from her bare core. She whimpered when his fingers barely brushed the trim, soft fur over her mons.

"It occurred to me earlier, mother," he spoke softly, massaging her cunt with gentle, curious strokes, watching those strokes intently. "That of all the flavors I've sampled here in the bayou, the one I'm most curious about is yours."

"Draco..." Her thighs trembled with her voice. Fingers curled hard into lush sheets. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had that singular pleasure - could nearly come just from the thought of it. She bit her lip while Draco leisurely fingered her, teasing. "Please..."

His free hand tugged off his socks, left him fully nude. The moon, the stars, the lights of New Orleans were kind to him - her young Adonis. "Please what, Narcissa?" One finger delved just a little deeper into her slit and she surged against it while he knelt between her raised knees, still just vexing with his touch.

"Please..." Even the silver lighting couldn't hide her deep blush. "Please taste me. Touch me. I don't care!"

He salivated at her words, the deliciousness of her wantonness. "I aim to please, ma'am." The term he'd picked up from the southern ancestors sounded nice muffled by her pussy, and if he'd enjoyed her begging, he was fully unprepared for the passion of her appreciation.

"Oh, sweet goddess!" She thrust against his face. "So good, darling!" His tongue drove insistent circles around her hardened clit, thrilled at the discovery it had made. And finally that probing finger saw fit to fuck her properly. She could hardly censor herself in the face of such raw bliss. "Shite, Draco," she spat. Her own fingers were rough in his hair, nails scratching at his neck.

His cock wept with her every hissed imprecation. She was glorious - one foot pressed to his shoulder and the other burying toes in the mattress. He introduced a second finger to her ever-swelling slit, lengthened and slowed his strokes to fully arouse the tortured tissue.

"Fuck, yes." She cursed carnally, tossing her head and clenching her eyes as if to fight the approaching climax. And perhaps she did just that - held it at bay to enjoy the sensation for just a moment longer...

He was the ultimate tease, though. Driving her to growls and uncharacteristic anathemas. "Nonono!" She curled when he withdrew his fingers, but was brought up short when he slid them into his mouth.

"Mmmm." His silver eyes were damnation. "Better than beignets, mum."

"Draco." Her hand curled round his neck, urged him to meet her sweaty visage. "I want you inside me," she whispered.

"You want what?" He bent again and sucked loudly on her clit.

"Ah!" Her body lurched as if it was not her own. "I want -"

"Louder." He sharply slapped her cunt and she cried out. He shoved his fingers inside her again, gave her no time to catch her breath or her sense. His other hand pulled her hair, tugged her ear awkwardly to his lips. "Tell New Orleans you want me to fuck you, Narcissa. Let the city hear you beg for your son's cock."

She kissed him sloppily, breathing heavy, still rocking with his fingers' knowledgeable work. But she didn't deny his request. "Fuck me, Draco! I want you inside me _now_." The voice quavered, but it was firm and, yes - loud.

"With pleasure, witch." He settled between her eagerly spreading thighs with hardness in hand. Knees buttressing his weight, he teased them both by rubbing at her entrance before easing inside. "Nnnnarcissa," he groaned, fell into her embrace. "You feel bloody amazing."

Cissa's breath hitched on his first thrust. Awkwardly, she reached one arm to the solid cherry headboard behind her, bastioned herself against his onslaught and ironically wrapped him in her other arm. A loving embrace amidst chaos. Caught up in the incredible pulse of him against her impossibly tense walls, her words left her. But Draco seemed to have enough words now for both of them. Lust loosened his tongue nicely and she enjoyed the fruits of his filth.

"Fucking hell, mother. Your cunt's as tight as it is sweet." He shifted her knee up and over his shoulder, deepened the penetration.

"Ohmygod!" Narcissa clutched at his shoulders, felt the head of his cock ram against her cervix - the burn of his shaft scraping that magical place too far for her own reach. "Draco! Baby!" She wrapped her other leg high over his hip, saw her toes bob in and out of view with his hips' snapping.

His right eye stung a bit with sweat. A drop slid from his nose to the quaking valley between her tits, mingled with her own salt. He licked the mix lewdly. His bollocks ached.

"Good, Cissa?" He grunted. "Am I fucking you properly?"

Her eyes rolled with her abdomen. A burning curl of something luscious was threatening to unfurl beneath her belly. Roughly, she rubbed Draco's wet fringe from his eyes. Voice dropped an octave."I've never known better, lovie."

"Ugh?" His head fell back, jaw slacked. The pleasure was catching up to him, too. "Never?"

And there it was, the plume of smoke, the flash of flame and the spiraling fire that drew her down into hell's bliss. "Never!" She shouted, seized him to her and rode out the crashing waves. "Dracodracodraco..."

He snorted into her neck, animal to the end. The grip of her muscles milked him of seed and strength. He moaned that inimitable moan, hips losing rhythm. "Merlin, Narcissa." He huffed. They collapsed in a heap of sweat, spit and their own leaking essences. Kissed into breaths catching.

He rolled to his side, releasing her from his weight. She rolled with him. Her gown was a bunched and sticky mess, even more like blood in this light. Music, laughter and voices drifted in as if unaware of the lovers' activities.

Draco looked down at the contentment on his mother's face. His voice was scratchy. "Never, eh?"

"Hm?" She was ready for a rest before round two.

"Never known better, you said." He closed his eyes, lulled by the designs her elegant fingers were drawing on his belly and breastbone.

"Should that surprise you?" She was looking up at him with a clarity - a wakefulness - that unsettled him at first. "To know you're the best lover I've ever known? There was only ever your father before you, Draco. And perhaps a few...dalliances that never reached maturity."

He blinked. Sad, really, to think his mother had not been properly seen to before now. But then... A slow, calculated grin spread. "So you're saying I'm-"

"Better in bed than your father?" She sat up loosely, rolled her shoulders and affixed her gown for some modesty. "Yes, that's what I'm saying." She slid from the bed onto weak legs and made for the lavatory. She peeked briefly around the corner from the hall. "Although I wouldn't get terribly excited. I'm not so certain being better in bed than your father is such a grand accomplishment." Draco frowned and she smirked. "But the goddess was far kinder to you anatomically. Lucky boy."

He grinned again. Crossed his arms behind his head. "Lucky you, too, I'd say!" He yelled to the loo. He heard no argument.

They opened the window in the lavatory, as well. Music from outside was amplified by the tiled walls. A creamy witch leg hung over the clawfoot tub's edge, water dripping occasionally from a tapered toe. Her son languished between her thighs, back to her front, head in her neck. He was laughing at her discomfiture over something, as usual. "What if I hadn't come back, eh? Would you have accepted a drink from that muggle?"

"I suppose so." Her expression read she was done with taking the piss on this particular issue. She gestured just past him to the wire rack stretched across the tub. Their bottle of absinthe stood there, the eye on its label blinking at them in perpetual surprise.

He handed her the bottle and she sipped straight from the neck, hissed at the burn of it. "And if he'd wanted more?"

"Oh, please." She gave back the bottle. "What could have possibly happened, Draco? I would hardly..." Here, her voice dropped to a whisper - "..._fuck_ some muggle in a public place if that's what you're suggesting."

Draco took his own swig of the green libation. The bottle dipped into the bubbles. "I've seen some of the things that happen in public places here, mum. Just saying." He rubbed at her cool, moist knee. "There was a moment when I thought you might fuck me on our balcony earlier." She pinched his nipple. "Ow!"

"You would have been sorely disappointed." He pinched her knee in return. "Ow! Prat."

He chuckled. "Yes?" She shifted behind him and he felt the scratch of her cunt against his lower back. "Oh..."

"Mmhm." Her fingers moved wet hair from his ear before she kissed the lobe. "I think I'm quite clean, son." She bit next - teeth tugging the sensitive flap of skin. "Besides, the water's gone tepid and I'm rather cold."

Draco plugged the absinthe matter of factly. She had him hard again in mere seconds. "I suppose I could warm you up, then." A splash as he stood. She gazed up at him from her recline, eyes lingering on his impressive erection.

"Mmm, I suppose you could." She took his outstretched hand and followed him into the bedroom.

Even at three a.m. it seemed this muggle city didn't sleep. Ever present was some music or other, wavering in from afar. Voices and vehicles. Laughter. It all seemed to culminate into one never ending song - the song of one place, filled with muggles, made magical by time and something simply...essential.

Gauzy curtains fluttered. The mother sat on the edge of the mussed bed, pulled her son to her by his sharp hipbones. Draco smiled down at her, steeled himself when he recognized her intent. One hand went to her arm - the other to her soft head. "Oh hell, Narcissa." His head fell back. Knees weakened. "Ung..."

Her mouth was decadent. Sinful. Stroking his cock in time with her hand, she set up a varying suction that soon had him quivering and tensing - as inarticulate as she'd been earlier. "Fuck, mum. That's..."

Occasionally, she moaned, sending a trilling vibration along his shaft. Her free hand fluttered up the inside of his thigh to fondle his swollen and aching bollocks. After a few minutes, he tore himself from her ministrations with a pop. "Gods, stop. I can't..." He steadied himself on her shoulders. "You'll bloody well kill me."

She craned her neck upward to sloppily claim his lips. "If you can last for me later, I'll let you come in my mouth now, darling."

He groaned. "Definitely killing me." But as tempting as her offer was, he couldn't guarantee the stamina she desired. He pushed her back on the bed. "I'll remember that later. But for now..." He urged her backwards on the bed. "I can only offer you more immediate gratification."

She smiled anticipation as he settled between her thighs, rubbed at his shoulders. He laved her breasts. "Draco?"

"Hm?" He was working a dark love bite to the underside of her right breast, wondering if her cunt tasted of the mint soap they'd soaked in.

"Let me ride you, love."

He froze. Bombarded with overwhelming images of this remarkable witch on top of him. "Uh..." She propped on her elbows and crooked a finger at him, gesturing him up. He obeyed, powerless in the wake of her newly awakened sensuality.

She arranged pillows against the headboard, aware that the carving there was potentially painful to his back. "Sit," she instructed gently. Patted the pillows. Draco scrambled to comply, knee slipping a bit on the sheets in his haste. She smiled at his eagerness as she mounted his thighs.

Draco reached for her. Could hardly bear to not be touching her. "So bloody gorgeous, mum." He caressed her hips as she settled over his erection. She was hot and wet, clearly ready for him. He bit his lip and watched her - felt her - descend slowly. "Oh, gods..."

Narcissa watched, too. Clutched the headboard behind her son in both hands and filled herself with his steely length. Draco was beautiful, as well; the clenching of his hard belly muscles, that perfect 'v' of his abdomen and the purple/red maplines on his swollen cock as her hungriness devoured it. "Too much," she whispered, head falling back.

"Hurts?" He could barely ask, but his concern was genuine. He fingered the fall of tangled hair cascading over a shoulder and down her back.

"No!" She couldn't control the hitch in her voice. _Quite the contrary. _She shuddered. This was her favorite position - one she'd missed greatly. "So good," she murmured. Shifted her hips and cried out at the stab of pure, hot pleasure. She stretched up on her knees...slid sloooowly back down. "Draco, you perfect darling..."

She held that same impossible pace for some time, occasionally catching a glimpse of her son's straining face either watching her straining face or watching their glistening connection. Her hand traveled lazily to his chin, pursed his lips for a lewd kiss, then continued down his smooth chest and over the knotty stomach.

Draco groaned when those fingers delved into her own pink tissue. "Goddammit, Narcissa." His bollocks reached a new level of need, bulging just like his eyes as he watched her pleasure herself on his cock. "Fuck me, witch. Faster!" His hands tightened on her hips, urging her to rise and fall. "Yeah...like that. Shite, mum."

She grunted when he sat up, pressing her hand between them and increasing her fingers' pressure on her engorged clit. "I'm so close," she growled in his ear before licking it.

"Thank the goddess," he hissed through clenched teeth. "Come for me, then. Because I need to fuck the hell out of you right now."

The growling wasn't her, was it? _It's the thing inside me, tensing to strike. That feral thing with the glinting eyes. That incredibly amazing feeling, hot burning and threatening and now becoming a - _"Dragon!" The word was simply that - a word. The one wrenched out of the moment by abandon and blinding lust.

But to Draco... It was the embodiment of this passion between them. Their essence. Him and her, but mostly him. He rode out her tensing and releasing thighs, took in the impossible arch of her back and the silent scream lodged in her throat. Her arm, snapped taut, trembled violently beside his head and he kissed it while she completed her arc of satisfaction. When she was reduced to tiny spasms and kittenish mewls, face lax on his shoulder, he shifted her.

If it was a dragon she wanted, a dragon she would have. "On your knees, witch."

"Mm?" She was slow, but compliant. Facing the foot of the bed on shaky hands and knees, she gave him a backward glance of pure coy.

So he wasn't gentle. Thrust bollocks-deep into her reddened cunt in one smooth maneuver. "Ahh!" It rocked her forward and she nearly toppled, caught herself awkwardly on one elbow. "Draco!"

"Narcissa." He fucked her mercilessly; fast, firm and with little regard for delicacy. She'd proven she could take it. She felt fantastic this way - tight and unable to control his depth. Her tits jolted with his every pump and he reached for one, leaned over her back and let his hips stoke the fire in his bollocks. "Fuck, witch. I'm going to come in you..."

"Yes!" Her reply was pained perhaps, but not an opposition.

He grappled with her, groped a breast and clutched one shoulder as he unloaded inside her. "Yes! Unh! Unh!" He didn't censor the carnal joy - his vehement victory. In fact, he rather fancied the stragglers in the street below knew he had made the witch his again. "Ohhhh, Merlin," he groaned over the last sloppy convulsions in his groin.

Narcissa moaned her own surrender into the pile of duvet she'd collected in her desperately clutching arms. "Better, darling?"

"Mm." He caressed her hips as he slid out of her, oddly gave her hot, abused cunt a little massage. His spendings collected on his fingers thick and milky, mixed with hers. "Much, mother. You?"

"Mrph." She collapsed fully on the bed. "I think I'm destroyed." But she was smiling satisfaction.

He wiped his hand on the sheets and lay facing her. "That was...nice." She laughed tiredly and he grinned. A breeze blew in, cooled their bodies. In the distance, there was thunder. "Sounds like a storm." She nodded. He touched her face. "Mother?"

She blinked softly. It was as if she knew what was coming. "Yes, son?"

"Will we go back home? To Wiltshire?" He asked because the weather reminded him. The rumbling sounds of British thunder on British horizons - the way it shimmered their wards. He missed it.

"Do you want to?"

"Yes."

Her own hand ventured to his face, feathered over his jaw. "Yes, Draco. We shall go home."

"Will we still have this? Us?" The earnest want in his voice - the naked and obvious fear of rejection - shook her.

"For as long as you will have me, lovie...I'm yours." She blinked at moisture in her eyes. _For how long will that be? _The moisture escaped as tears when Draco gathered her to him suddenly.

"Good." He sighed. His relief was almost palpable and he kissed the top of her head. "Not that we have to leave soon, you know."

"No?"

"No. Of course not. It's good to spend time with extended family."

"Absolutely." She patted his chest. "And there's always the bread pudding to consider."

"And the beignets."

"And the beignets."

He tightened his hold. Music drifted in from the street. A passing muggle woman was singing clearly, lonely, in a voice that embued chills...

_Oh, she may be weary...Young girls they do get weary..._

Draco stroked his mother's arm, felt her sweat cooling in the evening air.

_Wearing that same old shaggy dress, yeah yeah...But when she gets weary...Try a little tenderness, yeah yeah..._

He tilted her chin gently. Kissed her plumped lips. "I love you, Narcissa."

She threw an arm over his chest and settled into his side. "And I you, Draco." Sigh. He reached awkwardly for a corner of strewn duvet and pulled it over them. Feet in the pillows and heads at the foot of the bed, they drifted into sleep, lulled by the muggle woman still singing somewhere in the street.

They would be home soon enough, feet firmly on British soil, comforted by familiar weather and wards. But for now...home was in each others' arms. And probably always would be, wherever they laid their heads. The bayou had taught them this; move like the Mississippi, but know your gris gris. The best faith lies in love and heals the deepest wounds - Bayou Faith. Malfoy Faith.

**AN: **The end, dahlings. I'll miss this piece. _Cold Cold Heart _ is from Norah Jones and _Try a Little Tenderness _has been covered numerous times by numerous talents, but my two favorites are by Otis Redding and Florence Welch. Also this chapter goes out to Beautiful Disaster - ask and ye shall receive, gorgeous, and thank you for all of your reviews.


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